


Words/Silence/Flesh

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel), Savageseraph



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Consensual, Dubious Consent, Epistolary, Established Relationship, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, New Zealand, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2003-07-06
Updated: 2003-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean's away, on break from shooting, and Harry's taken an interest in Viggo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Talk is Cheap

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, Savageseraph posted a short letter in her LiveJournal (from Harry) with the intent of prodding Galadriel (caras_galadhon on LJ) into working faster on a shared WIP. "Sean" responded in kind in Galadriel's own LJ, and so began some friendly writer-to-writer taunting. ...Which rapidly and quite unexpectedly began to develop its own plot, spinning entirely off from the original WIP. (Starts out silly and metatextual, becomes more serious as the story moves along.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins with some innocent, friendly writer-to-writer taunting...

Dear Sean,

I am about to molest Viggo without your assistance because you can't get your soggy Sheffy butt out of the shower. Thank you for having the foresight to stock the place with an impressive selection of toys. I'm sure I'll be putting many to good use.

All my love,  
Harry

***

Dear Harry,

Put down the damn green collar with the amusing charm and back away from the kitty. My "soggy Sheffy butt" needs a lot of scrubbing, I'll have you know, especially since Viggo is a half a world away. It was hard enough to drag my arse out of bed this morning, so give me a couple more minutes to wash off this soapy mess.

In the meantime, _touch Viggo without me and I'll have to fork you._

No love whatsoever,  
Sean

***

Dear Sean,

Hmmm, so you're saying that you're having trouble getting it up when Viggo isn't around? How sad. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to suffer from the same problem, though I understand some men begin to have issues with their virility once they reach a certain age.

Perhaps I'll be able to help you out with that once you're back in Wellington. If Viggo's condition is any indication, I am quite inspiring in that area.

Regards,  
Harry

***

Dear Harry,

Unlike you, I do have some control over my ~~rampant~~ sexual urges. But a Kiwi bastard like you wouldn't know what control was if it thwapped you over the head, would you?

If it wasn't for the fact that my ~~writer~~ children are dragging me out and [forcing me to eat mini doughnuts and fudge today,](http://calgarystampede.com/) you can bet my arse would be firmly planted on a plane _*shudder*_ winging its way back to Wellington so I can teach you some manners. That, however, will have to wait until tomorrow.

Signed,  
Sean

P.S. I know Karl's been buggering about with my luggage, although I'm not quite certain to what purpose yet. Do I have you to thank for that?

***

Dear Viggo,

Enclosed please find one (1) fork.

Directions:  
1\. Remove fork from package, avoiding sticky mess on tongs.  
2\. Hold fork parallel to the ground.  
3\. Draw arm holding fork back.  
4\. Swing arm forward, aiming for ~~that git's~~ Harry's eye.  
5\. Stab. Stab, stab, stab.  
6\. Repeat as necessary.

All my love,  
Sean

***

Sean, Sean, Sean,

A mite touchy today, aren't we, mate? I can see now how more natural and expressive attitudes toward sex could be interpreted as threatening by our poor repressed insecure British cousins. My deepest apologies. And sympathies. Hmm, on second thought, perhaps I should offer those to Viggo.

Is that what draws you to him, Sean? His freedom? His lack of inhibitions? Or is it those little half-wild, half-broken sounds he makes when you tie him up and fuck him blind? Just wondering...

Hope you have a lovely day out with your girls. I'll be spending mine making sure that Viggo doesn't develop some schoolboy infatuation with a second-rate football team.

Gotta run, mate. Going to catch the Manchester United game with Viggo.

Ciao,  
Harry

PS I'll be sure to tell Karl that you mentioned his name and buggering in the same sentence (although I can't imagine why you would think that he (or I) have any interest in your luggage).

***

Dear Sean,

I received the package, but... Well... I saw all that glistening purple and green and red on the tongs, and I glued it to a canvas and started painting around it. Now, I've shellacked over the whole thing so there is no recovering it. I'm sorry, love. I didn't see your note until later.

Miss you so goddamn much,  
Viggo

***

_Harold,_

"Natural and expressive attitudes toward sex"? Tsk. _Harry, Harry, Harry._ I have it on good authority that you'd hump a lamppost for a dollar, so it only makes sense that you wouldn't be able to fully understand the intricacies of _adult_ relationships.

Viggo, on the other hand, is very familiar with the intimate bonds between adults, and from the sound of it, it seems he's been showing you our home videos. I must say that being able to evoke those lovely wild noises from him is only part of the experience. You can't truly know Viggo until you've had him gasp and scrabble for purchase under you, begging and straining against the ropes. ...Of course, you wouldn't know that, would you?

I had an excellent day with the girls; they are my pride and joy. I take my responsibilities in life seriously, after all, and am thankful for them.

And it certainly shows a man's desperation when he sinks as low as to insult a gentleman's choice of team without provocation. Am I not proving to be as entertaining a playmate as you would have liked, poor dear? Not quite getting the right rise out of me yet? It must be frustrating to not be man enough to provoke more than a lukewarm response. ~~Besides, I'll have you know that the Blades have a real chance this year. It's all about tradition, you daft Kiwi.~~

Send Karl my love. I'll deal with him soon enough.

Regards,  
Sean

P.S. Enclosed please find one (1) NZ dollar. You know what to do.

***

My dear, daft Viggo,

While I'm a bit upset that you didn't wait long enough to read my note, I'm glad to hear that you're keeping yourself busy with your art, love. It must be awfully dull with only Harry around to keep you company. I'll call you soon, and we can, um, have a nice _talk._

Thinking of you,  
Sean

P.S. I hope you didn't touch the fork's tines. I'd rather not have you getting sick.

***

Dear Sean,

Videos? I must say that I'm intrigued; however, I'm not sure what you're talking about. We've been having problems with the power over here. Wicked storms. You should see them; they've been fucking brilliant. Lightning breaking across the water. Peter has been complaining about the light because it has been so overcast. I'm sure you'd feel right at home.

Out of necessity, Viggo and I have had to find ways to amuse ourselves that don't depend on electricity. We've been exploring intimate ~~bondage~~ bonds. If I were the poet Viggo is, I would be able to describe how his hair curls when it's sweaty, how he shivers when he's blindfolded, how he tastes. But I suppose you know what I mean.

"I have it on good authority that you'd hump a lamppost for a dollar"? Really, Sean, you should know better than to listen to vicious gossip. Imagine if I did that. Why I'd think you were sucking off strangers in public restrooms for twenty-five dollars a pop. And I don't believe that. Frankly, a fellow with such a well-developed sense of irony (someone who has been divorced three times but feels he understands "the intricacies of adult relationships") is surely worth more than that for conversation alone.

In fact, may I offer some advice? Understand, mate, that I wouldn't say this if I didn't care. I think that what you need is for someone to take those ropes you're so fond of using on Viggo and give you a turn in them. I hear it allows the very repressed to externalize the internal constraints they suffer under. And you seem to be suffering greatly, my friend. I think that you would find the experience quite...liberating.

Tell me, Sean, would you like if I trussed you up? We'd have the ropes, maybe add some nipple clamps and cock rings. A nice dildo. Would you like me to make you beg for the good, hard fucking you know you deserve? Do you think Viggo would like to watch, take some pictures to remember it by?

Karl sends his regards. Hopes you're having good weather. Not too hot. Not too cold.

Much love,  
Harry

PS Enclosed please find fifty (50) NZ dollars as some incentive to think better of yourself. Perhaps investing in some Viagra, since you mention your problems of rising to the occasion.

***

Dear Sean,

Daft? I'm not the one who was so excited about the beds in the yard that he didn't notice the poison ivy until he was elbow deep in it. Suppose we both tend to be rather ~~obsessed~~ narrowly focused when it comes to things we feel passionate about.

Been spending time painting, writing, riding. Things I can do by myself. It takes up too much energy being with people when my heart really isn't in it. I have to appear pleasant and engaged, and all the while I resent them for being with me when you aren't. Unreasonable, moody bastard, aren't I?

And Harry... Sean, the fucker invited himself over (under false pretenses), and now he won't leave. He is so ~~erotic~~ annoying. So ~~sensual~~ maddening. So ~~arousing~~ arrogant. He's quite intolerable.

I guess I'll have to make up for neglecting your note when you get home. Tell you what, when you get back, you can do whatever you want to me. It won't matter what, as long as I can feel your hands and mouth on my body, as long as I can have you inside me. Perhaps we can discuss it the next time you call. Love you.

Out of sorts in Wellington,  
Vig

P.S. Um, Sean, what exactly was on that fork?

***

Oh, Harry,

Glad to hear the weather over there is better than here. Or are you trying to be sarcastic? It's so hard to tell when dealing with someone with such an underdeveloped sense of wit.

By the way, I'm only repeating what Karl told me about you. And given how much time you two spent together on _The Price of Milk,_ I figure he knows what he's talking about, having first-hand experience and all. I do hope you didn't spend that dollar all in one place.

Oh, and I think you have me confused with George Michael, Harry, as I have never been ~~caught~~ in a public washroom doing anything to anyone. I can understand how you might be a bit confused, though, since we're both British and more popular than you. And really, 25 dollars? Your money might be of use to you in your little country, but that's barely 9 pounds, you twit. You couldn't get a slag to show you her tits for that kind of cash.

_*sigh*_ I don't know why I'm even bothering to explain this to you, but I'll have you know my first wife and I drifted apart. We were just young kids anyway, you know? My second and third wives? Well, that's showbiz for you, Harry. And as any adult can tell you, sometimes things just don't work out like you planned. ...If they had, well, I wouldn't be bothering to write to you, now would I? Because you wouldn't be in my damn Wellington house.

I don't believe you have it in you to dominate me, Harry. In fact, so far all you've demonstrated is that you're good at winding a fellow up. Well, as they say, talk is cheap.

Why must you persist in your little taunting games? Are you that desperate to fuck me? I had no idea you were so smitten. But a word to the wise, _mate,_ I'm out of your league.

Do give Karl my love and my sympathies. The lamppost story isn't the only thing he spilled his guts about. Poor boy. What a disappointment for him, after all your big talk! Ah well. Sometimes the feature just doesn't live up to the previews, I suppose.

My sympathies,  
Sean

P.S. I know it's tough, but do try and keep out of the toy chest. Those toys aren't for amateur use.

P.S.S. Enclosed please find nine (9) British pounds. That should keep you going for some time, by all accounts.

***

Dear Viggo,

Unreasonable, moody bastard you may be, but you're mine, and that's all that matters.

Ah, yes, the poison ivy. Did we ever get someone to come 'round and see about removing it? I can't plant the north corner until it's gone. My skin still crawls when I think about that rash. ...And how long it was before I could stand to have anyone touch me again. Do you know how much I ached for the feel of your body pressed up against mine, even through the pain? How I lay awake at night, alone in bed, and distracted myself from the constant itching by thinking of you moaning and writhing under me?

I remember being able to see the faint light filtering underneath the bedroom door. I imagined you'd forgotten to turn off the table lamp, as you are wont to do, and hadn't even made it to the couch before you fell asleep. I imagined rolling out of bed, walking down the hallway and into the living room where you sat, slumped in the overstuffed chair, another of those obscure books of poetry you're so fond of dangling from your hand. I'd stand over your sleeping form and watch you breathe; watch as the book dropped to the floor when your fingers finally went slack. I'd move around to stand in front of you, squat down until I was at eye level, and then with one hand on the back of your head, I'd draw you forward into a kiss designed to suck the fillings out of your mouth.

I wanted to trap you, naked and willing, between my own body and the back of the chair. I wanted to press you up against the fabric, cover your mouth with my hand, and hold your wrists firmly against your back as I bent you over the chair and thrust slowly up and into you.

I thought about that every night as I waited for the pain to subside. Every. Fucking. Night. You sleeping on the couch and me, alone in bed. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it, did you know that? Not even a goddamned wank. Couldn't on account of my hands, y'see? Damn plants.

I don't know what to tell you about Harry, Vig. He seems determined to take the piss out of me while he's moving in on you, and I'd suggest simply turning him out of the house, but I know how you feel about that sort of thing. I might just turn him out myself if he's still there when I get back.

I'll call you soon. Maybe we can have a proper ~~wank~~ talk then.

Missing you,  
Sean

P.S. Oh, the fork? You know what flying does to me. This time, I came down with a roaring cold almost the minute I stepped off the plane. Must be all that stress and the recirculated air. Before you give me _that look_ (and I don't have to be on the same continent as you to know what kind of expression's on your face), I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. I'll be fine. The mess on the fork, on the other hand, well, let's just call it a specimen, shall we?


	2. Talk is Foreplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes aim at Sean's phobias and sends along some interesting material. Viggo writes some lovely smut, and Karl and Orlando appear. The time for verbal sparring is over for Sean, and Bernard is pulled into the mess.

Sean,

Talk is foreplay, and sometimes that (depending on your partner) can be cheap. A more sophisticated sort of fellow might know that, but if you want more, get your ass on a plane and fly back here. Prove me wrong. Of course, it makes sense that you don't think I have it in me to lay you out on your back. You overestimate yourself and underestimate me. You're falling into the trap of all those poor bastards you end up playing in films. You're starting to think like them.

Let's be honest, shall we, if he caught you stepping off that plane, Elijah could have you up against the terminal wall with your pants around your ankles and his cock up your ass in under sixty seconds. Nice to know we're in agreement on one thing, Sean. You are out of my league, but I'm willing to relax my standards a bit and make an exception for you. I mean, you compared yourself to George Michael, for fuck's sake. Have you no pride at all? No need to thank me for my generosity. You can show me how grateful you are once you're back in Wellington.

Anticipating your return,  
Harry

PS Karl found you message most amusing. You misjudged the target there, Sean. We're mates, trust each other. I'll be happy to demonstrate the intricacies of such relationships to you if you like.

PSS Thought you might want these to know what Viggo and I have been up to in your absence. Figured it might cheer you up knowing that Viggo isn't spending all his time moping about.

_[Small package enclosed.]_

***

Sean,

That look? You mean the nonverbal equivalent of the _lecture_ I get when I don't want to worry you about things--like getting smashed in the face by a surfboard? I have the goddamn right to worry about you, Sean. It comes with the territory. I worry when you're doing stunts on the set because something could go wrong and you could get hurt. I worry about you whenever you have to step on a plane because I know how it knots you up inside. I worry that one day... No, never mind.

"Harry seems determined to take the piss out of me while he's moving in on you." There's nothing Harry can do that will make me stop wanting you, Sean. Nothing. He could have bedroom skills that put yours to shame (possible, but doubful), but his eyes wouldn't crinkle like yours at the corners when he laughs. His voice wouldn't falter as he ducks his head when he's saying something important, something true. He wouldn't smell like summer. Only you, elskede.

I dreamed about you last night. We were out in the yard. Everything was so green, bursting with life. It prickled over our bodies, sensitized our skin, magnified each caress, each kiss.

You pulled me down in the grass with you, and our clothes melted away, because they can do that in dreams. I straddled your hips and sank down on you. Have I ever told you how intense it is for me that way? You're so deep, and I feel possessed more completely than I do when I'm bound. I'm not sure I can explain it and have it make sense, but each time I come down on you, I'm giving myself to you over and over again because I want to. I need to.

As you get close, you dig furrows in the earth, dark soil and bits of grass are embedded under your nails. You call my name as you spill inside me, and I fight to hold on. I know it's a dream when I do.

I raise up, let you slide out of me. You're so fucking beautiful, Sean. And I.... I tell you that I want to take you. You give me a sweet, lazy smile, spread your legs for me. You're so damn tight--almost too tight. It feels like seasons change while I'm inside you, and when I come, it is perfect and devastating.

I'm still inside you when I wake up. The sheets and my belly are damp and sticky.

You never told me any of that, about the ivy, before, elskede. No, you wait until you're half the world away and send me a letter that makes me ache for you. Not someone who can bring me off. You, elskede. Only you.

Jeg elsker dig,  
Vig

PS I did have a service come over and take care of the ivy. They found a few other patches starting deeper in the yard. Eliminated all of them. Perhaps I should have just stabbed them with your colorful snot and saved the money. You can be so nasty sometimes, you know that?

***

KissMyBow: hey karl  
RohanWon: Orli.  
KissMyBow: tell me something?  
RohanWon: What?  
KissMyBow: what's up with harry and viggo  
RohanWon: Don't know what you mean.  
KissMyBow: sure you do. you're harry's boy.  
RohanWon: Wrong on both counts, mate.  
KissMyBow: have you fucked him?  
RohanWon: Pardon me?  
KissMyBow: have you fucked harry? has he fucked you?  
KissMyBow: come on, you can tell me  
RohanWon: I can take out a full-page ad in the bloody New York Times, but I'm not going to.  
KissMyBow: so you have????  
RohanWon: We're just friends.  
KissMyBow: aaaah, that narrows it down.  
RohanWon: What do you mean?  
KissMyBow: only 3 possibilities  
KissMyBow: 1 you were in love with him once but something went wrong but not wrong enough to make you hate him or fall entirely out of love  
KissMyBow: 2 you fucked and it was horrible  
KissMyBow: 3 you reallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreally want to fuck him bad  
RohanWon: Orlando?  
KissMyBow: yeah  
RohanWon: Fuck you.

***

Jesus, Harry. You're a total prick, you know that? Fucking planes and fucking _you._ I wouldn't sink so damn low. Come on, why don't you meet me at the airport? Even aviophobia isn't going to keep me from clocking you as soon as I step off the plane.

And what's this you've so kindly enclosed?

**...You fucking bastard.** What the hell are these? I... I don't believe my goddamn eyes. I -- you _bastard._

_[No signature]_

***

Karl,

You bastard. What the hell have you been up to with Harry? I thought we were friends, Karl, and then Harry sends me these... _these pictures._ Don't play fucking innocent with me, either, you arsehole. I know you have something to do with all this. These pictures didn't take themselves!

Sean

***

Oh, Vig.

I... I'm so damn tired, love. I've been away from you for so long now, and I thought I'd enjoy the time off. And I have, sure, I mean, I love seeing the girls again, and I wouldn't trade that for the world, but... _Oh fuck, I just don't have the words._

I'm not a poet. I wish I had the same talent with words that you do, even if you are ridiculously obscure half the time. I'm tired, Vig, and I can't tell you, I can't write down what I mean. I've started this letter over and over again now, and it all comes out shite.

I miss you. I think of you all the time now. The girls, well, Evie and her mum have gone to Dublin so Abigail can work on some new film; she didn't pass on many details. It's hard enough saying goodbye to my little one, but Molly and Lorna departed yesterday for a school trip as well. I saw them off myself, over Mel's protests, and it hurt like hell to watch them leave, to have them slip through my fingers again. It doesn't matter how hard I try. It feels as if they're growing up without me, and one day they're not going to need dear old Dad anymore.

Fucking hell, Vig, he's got you and I'm too far away to do anything about it. ~~Are you fucking him?~~ I don't like it. I worry. Harry's a bastard, and I have this awful feeling he's going to make sure someone gets hurt. ~~He may already have.~~

You said you worry about one day... "One day" what, love? Tell me, or I'll be left to fill in the blanks, and I don't think that's a good idea right now.

But I suppose I'm being unreasonably maudlin, aren't I? Or is it unreasonably _mean?_ I'll admit it; Harry's been taunting me, sending me these goddamn letters, and I've been rising to the bait like a starving flounder. Hell, I've been acting like a stupid git. I can't fucking stop it, though. Jesus fucking Christ, I can't stop falling for it.

About the ivy: Maybe I should have told you sooner, but somehow it seemed a little desperate -- me, half my body covered in a fiery rash stemming from my own stupidity, fantasizing about a man not more than ten feet away and not able to do anything about it.

I'm thinking of you now, and of your last letter. I've brought myself off to it at every opportunity today. In the morning, fresh out of the shower, still damp and wrapped in a towel. In the afternoon, after sitting in the backyard, hoping for rain, and this evening, just before I sat down to write.

As I sat outside this afternoon, not entirely sure what to do with myself, I couldn't help but remember watching you practise with Anduril in our own yard in Welly. It's a sight to behold on any day -- muscles glistening with sweat, those small grunts that escape you as you fine tune your movements -- but I can't help but have a special place in my heart for that day it began to rain and you were too engrossed in your routine to notice. Hair plastered against your skull, water running in rivulets down your bare arms and back, and those maddening _sounds_ carrying over the sound of the rain. I wanted to fuck you blind, Vig. Both of us, soaking wet, in the rain, on the grass, in the dirt. Instead, I told you to come inside and put the lightning rod away. I guess I'm full of missed opportunities, aren't I?

Love,  
Sean

P.S. Tell me you haven't been surfing with Orlando and the Hobbits again. That was one hell of a shiner last time, and I think we're out of frozen peas.

***

To: Bernard Hill <theoden@meduseld.co.nz>  
CC: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>  
From: Sean Bean <sbean@blades.co.uk>

Subject: Pub?

Bernard,

I hear you're in town. I know it's last minute, but any chance you want to get together and knock a couple back? I could use a mate right about now.

Sean

***

To: Sean Bean <sbean@blades.co.uk>  
From: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>

Subject: Re: Pub?

Sean!

Sure. Tonight? I can shuffle a couple unimportant meetings to the side. I wasn't too keen on them anyway. I'll be free around nine. Shall we meet at the Horse and Cart? I recall someone mentioning that it was a charming little place.

Good to hear from you. I'll see you tonight.

Yours,  
Bernard

***

Sean,

When you have it, please send me your flight information. I'd be happy to pick you up at the airport. What are friends for? Besides, since we share so many common...interests, we should strive to get along. I'm sure that we can if only you are able to get past your hostility and insecurity.

Perhaps these last few pictures will make you feel better. They're personal favorites, and I wanted to get them enlarged so that you could fully appreciate them. The curve of Viggo's neck is pleasing, isn't it? His skin really is quite fair. Those bite marks on his shoulder have barely begun to fade, and it has been four days. And even though they are just photos, I almost fancy I can hear him screaming as he comes. Can't you?

What do you think, Sean? Really, I value your opinion.

All the best,  
Harry

PS I'll be waiting for that flight information.

***

Sean,

Rehearsal with Hugo was a disaster. We were working on the scenes where Elrond tells Aragorn to leave Arwen, and he tries to give her back the Evenstar. I don't know if I can do it. I can't tell Aragorn's pain from my own anymore. Everywhere I look, I see signs of things passing. Fading. It hurts so fucking bad, Sean. So bad.

I'm the desperate one. Not you. He talks to me about you, you know. All the time. My eyes close as I imagine you doing the things to me he is describing, for a second I pretend the hands cupping, stroking, caressing are yours. The bastard's training me like some mongrel dog, teaching me to respond to him by evoking you.

One day. God, Sean, I can't...I... I worry that one day we'll realize that this has been all a dream and that it's time to wake up. I worry that I won't be able to bear the waking. I think it might shatter me.

Tell me there is still hope, elskede. Tell me you still love me, still want me. But only if it's true. Only if it's true. Please.

Vig

PS Not a poet? How can you say that? The man who watched me in the rain and wrote to me about the damned ivy has a poet's soul. You underestimate yourself and the power that your words have over my body and my heart.

***

To: Sean Bean <sbean@blades.co.uk>  
CC: Sean Bean <boromir@gondor.co.nz>  
From: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@meduseld.co.nz>

Subject: Help!

Dear Sean,

Hope this message finds you well and that you're enjoying your time with your daughters. They're lucky to have such a devoted dad. Don't suppose you'd like to adopt me? We all miss you, love, but...um...have you talked to Viggo lately? I'm worried about him, Sean. He really scared me today.

This morning I was walking Liv (don't ask) to one of the rehearsal spaces, Viggo and Hugo were working on some Elrond/Aragorn scenes, then Liv was going to run through some Arwen bits with them. Harry...I'm not sure what he was doing there, but he was hanging about as well.

So at one point, Hugo stops to fret over a line and talk through it with Harry; Liv starts babbling on to Viggo about how great the scene is developing (Is it just me, or is she rather dim?); and Viggo is just standing there looking stricken. I'm obviously the only person in the room who knows this isn't some bloody method actor thing, because everyone else is just carrying on like nothing is wrong. Sodding idiots!

I grab Viggo and drag him out of the studio and into that little lounge, you know, the one with the rather sickly potted palm. I lock the door because I don't want any of them following us in, and I can't trust them to have the sense not to try. Christ, Sean, when I touch Viggo, he's shaking. He looks so...lost. He drops to his knees, head bowed, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. I kneel too. I pull him into my arms, and his arms slip around me. He starts trembling harder. He doesn't make a sound, but I can feel his tears running down my neck and across my chest.

We are like that so long that my legs start to cramp and my back aches from supporting him. He goes so quiet I think he must have fallen asleep, then he tilts his head and kisses my jaw. His face is flushed, eyes red and glassy.

I gave him two options: talk about it or go out to lunch with me. He chose the latter. We went to that little sandwich place (the one with the fabulous chicken wraps) Billy found, and by dessert Viggo sounded normal (for him), though not a word about what was bothering him. We went shopping after to a little arts festival that's going on in town, found lots of wonderful stuff--some of which might actually find its way into your hands. And on the way home, we stopped at a greenhouse. Vig bought me a dozen roses (six white, six yellow), and he bought four of these great sculpted shrubs. They're quite wonderful, look almost alien.

So I'm writing you because men can be daft at times, and I don't know if Viggo's told you anything is bothering him, but if he didn't, you need to ask. I'll make you the offer I made him: if there is anything I can do, anything you need from me, anything at all, please, let me know.

All my love,  
Miranda

PS I really mean anytime. Cate is out of town. Karl's away working on scenes with Paris (Not sure if you met him or not. Pretty boy, plays Theodred.). So unless I lie or have other plans, I'm faced with the depressing prospect of entertaining Liv or drinking and playing pool with the hobbits. Save me, Sean!!!

***

Harry,

Fuck you.

Sean

_[Enclosed is a small heap of very tiny scraps of photo paper.]_

***

Vig,

A dream? _A dream?_ Daft bugger. This is no dream. Dreams are soft and malleable, fuzzy 'round the edges; every moment of my time with you has been crystal clear, cutting deep into my memory. I had no idea you felt that way about us. Have I given you a reason to feel so insecure? So unloved?

Miranda emailed me, Viggo. She told me about the rehearsal.

There are things I don't want to ask. I don't want to have to ask. Don't make me ask, Vig. Just. Don't.

Sean

***

To: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@meduseld.co.nz>  
From: Sean Bean <sbean@blades.co.uk>

 

Subject: Re: Help!

Miranda! Am I glad to hear from you.

The roses sound very nice. Perfect for you, golden hair and all, my Lady. And leave it to Vig to remember -- white for purity, and yellow for gratitude. And here I thought he was simply humouring me by pretending to listen. Though knowing him, those petals are chock full of some hidden meaning, and I'm just taking too much credit for something that has nothing at all to do with me.

I... I don't know what to tell you about Vig. To tell you the truth, _I_ don't really know what's going on, and I'm not sure I want to either. Harry's... Hell, I don't know. From the sounds of it, whatever he's up to is shredding Viggo, and I can't figure out to what end. Harry's always been a bit of a prick, but at least he was a mate. Now, well.

I feel... distant, Mir. Like all of this is happening outside of me. And I'm afraid if I talk to Viggo I'll be told something I don't want to know and won't be able to handle. As it is, I'm starting to crack under the weight of all this garbage.

It's probably best that I wasn't at rehearsal. These days I'm as like to punch something as I am to walk away. I'm glad you were with him, though. Glad someone's there to keep him from splintering. I wish I knew when he'd become so fragile, and whether I'm at fault. I was planning to come back early, but now I'm not so sure that would be a good idea for anyone involved. Your email was unsettling, to say the least, and add to it the thought of getting on a plane? What is it Elijah's so fond of saying? Oh, right. I was "praying to the porcelain god." I'm not much good to anyone right now.

Karl's away? What do you mean, "away?" As in away-at-another-set, or away-not-reachable-by-any-means? Dammit, Mir. I may have done something incredibly stupid.

Much love,  
Sean

P.S. Adopt you? *laughing* Don't tell the boys, but you've always been my favourite.

***

To: sbean@blades.co.uk  
From: Flowers 4 U <flowers4u@flowers4u.co.nz>

Subject: Flowers 4 U Order Confirmation #69254

Dear Sean Bean,

Thank you for your order from Flowers 4 U (http://shop.flowers4u.co.nz).

This is your electronic receipt which you should save for future reference.

Please make a note of your order number(s) located right below each address to which you have shipped. If you find any errors in what you ordered or in your billing or shipping address, please reply to this note immediately with all corrections.

We will send you a separate e-mail notification when your flowers ship, complete with the tracking number for your bouquet (if applicable). You can always track the status of your order by visiting our Order Status Page at:

https://shop.flowers4u.co.nz/myaccount/track_login.html

At the Order Status login page, simply enter your Confirmation Number (located right below the shipping address) and email address (sbean@blades.co.uk) to view the current status of your order.

Here are the details of the order you placed with us:

Billing Address:

Sean Bean  
20 Sheffield Cross  
Sheffield, Yorkshire, UK  
(555) 555-9320

Shipping Information:

Miranda Otto  
1 Edoras Heights  
Wellington, NZ  
(555) 555-7568

Order Confirmation Number: 69254

Shipping Method: Local Florist

Optional Message: Thanks, Mir. Just because. In gratitude, Sean

1 bell flower bouquet (white) w/vase (blue)

Subtotal: $31.90  
Shipping and Handling: $17.95  
Tax: $0.00  
\--  
Total: $49.85

Thanks again for visiting Flowers 4 U, and we look forward to seeing you again soon!

http://shop.flowers4u.co.nz

***

To: Karl Urban <rohanwon@meduseld.co.nz>  
From: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>

Subject: Inquiry

Karl,

How are you, sister-son? I've been enjoying my time off, as I'm sure you've been enjoying working diligently on those extra scenes. I'm not emailing you just to chat, though, much as I'd like for that to be my only reason.

I'm wondering if you would be in a position to enlighten me regarding recent events. Yesterday, entirely out of the blue, Sean contacted me asking if I wanted to join him for a drink. You could have knocked me over with a feather; you know how he tends to keep to himself when there's no one about to draw him out.

Of course, I immediately cancelled a dinner-date and an evening script reading. Those sorts of things can be rescheduled, but when Sean suddenly wants company, well...

I met him at the Horse and Cart in Yorkshire. It's a nice pub. You'd like it; I think Ian tipped me off about it, but I can't be sure. I was there at nine right on the dot, but it seems Sean got there first. I found him sitting at the bar, nursing a beer, and I doubt it was his first. He didn't say much. Not even when I sat down beside him, which, admittedly, isn't anything new where he's concerned, but all through the evening I got the feeling there was something he wanted to say. I, however, was the wrong person to say it to, of that I am certain.

We talked a lot about the Blades instead. The Blades, _the bloody Blades!_ *sigh* Does that man not have a sense in his head? Surely he could throw his lot in with a better team.

Anyway, the reason I thought it urgent enough to contact you is because I happened to ask Sean if he'd talked to Viggo lately, and he shied away from the subject like a skittish horse. Rolling eyeballs, panicked expression and all. I've never seen him look so strange. It didn't matter how much I plied him with drink, either. (Lord, can that man drink!) Nothing loosened his tongue.

I know you're half a world away, but do you have any ins with Viggo that would clear up this matter? I am wondering if something has happened between those two. And if so, I'm certainly hoping that whatever it is, the tide can be stemmed before it balloons into a bloody soap opera (as these on-set romances tend to do).

Yours,  
Bernard


	3. Flower and Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's no help, Miranda urges Sean to come home, Karl emails Bernard, and Viggo reminds Sean of some simple things.
> 
> As he gets ready to fly home, Sean's anger knows no bounds.

Sean,

Interesting offer. It has...possibilities. I'll have to think it over and get back to you on it.

Regards,  
Harry

***

To: Sean Bean <sbean@blades.co.uk>  
From: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@meduseld.co.nz>

Subject: Re: Help!

Dear Sean,

For the last few days, Karl's been out of town filming the orcs and Theodred sequence. I've been trying to phone him, but he hasn't called me back. Probably left his phone at home. You know how he's always misplacing things: phone, keys, glasses, wallet. He's a damnable menace that way.

Harry is a prick. He's one of those guys whose eyes keep wandering down to a girl's breasts whenever he's talking to her. I don't even have the sense that he's doing it because it turns him on. Nah, he's the sort who'd do it just to see what happens. So it should come as no surprise that I have, on several occasions, very cheerfully told him to go hump a cheese grater. I don't think he likes me much. Can't imagine why...

Damn it, Sean, don't you fucking dare go to pieces on me too. OK, what's the worst, the absolute worst, thing that you can imagine? Viggo tells you to sod off? Impossible. I've seen him, Sean. One does not traipse through an art fair going, "Sean would really love this or that," if one if thinking of telling the person mentioned to bugger off.

Next worse? Harry's been banging Viggo? This one is distressing, but easily remedied. I will gladly loan you my new gourmet cheese grater. Um, well, maybe not loan. You can keep it afterwards. So if you can deal with the two worst scenarios, you've nothing to fear. Not saying that things will go easy and not be without pain, but you'll muddle through. I've faith in you, love.

Sean, come back. If you were planning on coming back early to begin with, do it. Viggo's a wreck; you're making yourself sick. For fuck's sake, do you really want to endure another few weeks of that? Besides, those little alien shrubs will want planting. They need you, Sean. They told me so.

I'm attaching five different flight plans I searched out online, tried to find the most direct (and, hence, least stressful) flights available. Just. Come. Back. I'll come get you at the airport. In a bikini and grass skirt. I'll ~~bake~~ buy you a cake. You name it.

Write back soon!!!

Love,  
Miranda

PS Your favorite? Really? I'm ~~blushing~~ ~~delighted~~ preening, love.

***

To: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>  
From: Karl Urban <rohanwon@meduseld.co.nz>

Subject: RE: Inquiry

 

Bernard,

Been doing fine. We're shooting the scenes where Theodred is wounded and Eomer rides in to beat the orcs back. In short, we're having lots of fun. I left my bloody cell phone at home, so the only way to get hold of me is on the computer.

Goddamn it all to hell! Bernard, I think I may have fucked up. No...I'm sure I did.

When Sean left, Harry had me sneak something into his luggage. A gag gift. Nothing that should have gotten Sean riled up. Earlier this week, Harry had me convince Viggo to go out to dinner with us, then he asked me to bow out, said it was all part of whatever it was he was setting up. Really, I didn't think it'd cause any harm. You know how Harry and Sean are always getting into those mostly friendly pissing contests.

Christ, this is a proper mess, Bernard. I have to find out what Harry did, and that is something I need to do in person. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

I should be back home tomorrow night. I'll be in touch then. Let me know if you hear anything else.

Regards,  
Karl

***

Sean,

Do you remember how we started, Sean?

You hated the boats. Fucking hated them. Orlando and I were paddling circles around you, and he teased you about being as floaty as a boulder all the time. You were so pissed off. I offered some private tutoring so you could put Orli in his place, and we went out that one Sunday. Either I was a terrible teacher or you were a horrible student, because you weren't improving. You were surly, and I decided to take a page from Orlando's book and ram your boat. I didn't mean to capsize you, but I did. You came up sputtering, calling me a daft bugger (among other things).

I paddled over to help you out of the water, into my boat, and you pulled me in with you. We tussled in the water, laughing, skin sliding over skin, until the moment when I felt your erection pressed against my belly. Our eyes met, and the world seemed to pause. There was a feeling like tumblers clicking in a lock. I could tell you felt it too, then your hands cupped my face, thumbs under my jaw, titling my head back as you claimed my mouth. My hands went around your hips, and when you thrust against me, it felt so right. More right than anything had in a long time.

We made for the shore, smooth river stones on the bank shifting and crunching beneath our feet as you walked me backward to a patch of grass that was nearly half clover. We stripped off our wet clothes and fell back into the green. You started stroking me, trying to bring me off right away, but I stopped you. I wanted to come with you inside me. You complained that we had nothing to make this easier. You could have fucked me dry, Sean. I would have taken the pain, as long as you came with it.

You urged me up on my hands and knees, and I braced myself against the pain. I wasn't prepared for the slow licks, the lazy thrusting of tongue and then later fingers. It took all my will to hold on, to wait for you to be inside me. Glaciers move faster than you sank into me, and you held my hips, wouldn't let me push back and take you fast. Your hips barely moved, but every stroke made me want to scream. I know I must have, probably more than I remember. However, I do remember moaning as you pulled out. You turned me over and told me that you wanted to see me face when I came. The next thrust in was not so languid. Soon you were pounding into me, and I was trying to open my legs wider, take you into me deeper.

I came so hard it hurt.

Then there was silence and sunshine as our breathing fell into rhythm. I turned my head and I saw the stone right near your hand. A white rock with a hole worn all the way through it. It seemed a very good omen to me, so I kept it.

I don't feel unloved. It's just...I suppose I don't feel I deserve that love, that gift. I don't feel that I deserve you.

Fuck. I don't know if I can say it.... Before you left for break, I wanted you, but I'm not used to wanting things so badly that they make me ache. Now, I do, and I don't think I realized how much until you were gone. That scares me, Sean. It terrifies me that I want you this goddamn much, that I need you this goddamn much.

I should...just end here. I'm not making any sense. I'm not.... I don't....

You have my heart, elskede.

Always,  
Vig

 

_[Enclosed is a smooth white river stone with a hole worn though it on a leather cord.]_

***

To: Sean Bean <sbean@blades.co.uk>  
From: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@meduseld.co.nz>

Subject: I love you!

Dear Sean,

The deliveryman just left. Bell flowers! No one ever sends bell flowers, which is a shame because they are so lovely. So many colors. A favorite of butterflies. I like watching the blossoms close in on themselves at night.

Thank you so much, Sean, though no gift was necessary (which is not to say that it is not appreciated and cherished).

Much love,  
Miranda

PS Have that flight information yet?

***

Harry,

So help me god, if you open that fucking foul mouth of yours one more time you'll have to suck all your future meals through a straw. I'll cut your fucking balls off, Harry. I'm going to fucking feed them to you. If I find even one fingerprint of yours on Viggo, I'll split you open from stem to sternum. I'll... I'll have your guts for garters. You better fucking run, Harry. Consider this a gentleman's fair warning.

Sean

***

To: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@meduseld.co.nz>  
From: Sean Bean <sbean@blades.co.uk>

Subject: Re: I love you!

Hey Mir,

Glad you liked the flowers. You deserve them and more.

Thanks for looking up all those flights. As much as I'm dreading it, you're right. I have to come home. I have to see Viggo and find out what the fuck's been going on. I'm sorry for dumping so much of this on you. I'm a grown man, for Christ's sake. You'd think I could handle myself, but I've never been great with relationships. Jesus, I'm praying this isn't going to end like all the other times.

And _Karl,_ dammit, I didn't know he was away. I, uh, said some rather harsh things, thinking he'd been plotting with Harry again, and now I'm wondering if I wasn't too fast off the mark. Shit. I'm making a right arse of myself lately. Looks like I'm going to be doing a bit of grovelling once I'm back in Welly.

But Harry, well, get the cheese grater ready, Mir. I have a feeling I'm going to need it.

As much as I'd love to have you meet me at the airport (grass skirt and all), I think it'd be better if I catch a taxi and go directly home from there. You understand, don't you? I'll be back by tomorrow night and I'll ring you as soon as I have a chance.

Much love,  
Sean

P.S. Miranda, dear, I think you've been spending too much time around the makeup trailer. Are the fumes getting to you? At any rate, maybe you should stay away from those little bushes Viggo bought. You sound a bit... overly attached to them.

***

To: Karl Urban <rohanwon@meduseld.co.nz>  
From: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>

Subject: Re: Inquiry

Karl,

I haven't heard from Sean since I met him at the pub. If he was looking for something, obviously I wasn't the one to give it to him.

I'll be back in NZ in another week, and I'm asking you, sister-son, to make sure whatever it is you and Harry have done has been cleared up by then. I don't want to come back to a mess on set. Harry I can see pulling all sorts of stunts, but I would have thought you'd know better.

_*sigh*_ Ah, Karl. I know you have the best of intentions so much of the time, but the road to hell is paved with them, isn't it?

Let me know how it goes. Despite my better instincts, I'd like to know.

Yours,  
Bernard

***

Viggo,

Thank you for the stone, love. I, uh, I'm not sure what to do with it, but I appreciate it all the same.

I sat with it in the palm of my hand for a long time last night. It's heavier than it looks, isn't it? I can see why you kept it. It reminds me of you -- worn and smooth with the passing of time, taking what you need from the world, no more, and letting the rest pass through you. It's warm. Warm from the heat of my skin, but even when I put it down and walk away it doesn't cool.

Neither do you. I watch you, Viggo, more than you know. I've seen the way you attack life with a furor I can't match, not even in my most frenetic moments. I've watched you burn brightly, slowly, passionately, and I've been afraid to touch you, to slide against you, skin to skin, for fear that I'll be scorched. You brand me, Vig, each and every time I thrust into you. Each time I claim your mouth with my own. And the marks, they don't fade. Even now I can feel the heat of your lips, blistering, scalding me, your fingers a slow burn as you stretch me, prepare me for those few moments when I'm brave enough to let you take me, let you scar me from the inside out.

I know the ache you describe, and it's increased tenfold now that -- now that Harry's in my place.

I'm coming home, Vig.

Sean

***

**Sanders Food & Drug  
(555) 555-3934  
87 Sheffield Cross  
Sheffield, Yorkshire**

Rx: **9205293**  
Dr. B. Cornwell

**BEAN, SHAUN MARK**

Description: Antianxiety. Prescribed for aviophobic episodes. Take 1 capsule (0.5 mg) up to 3 times daily. Do not exceed 4 mg per day.

**ALPRAZOLAM 0.5 MG**  
Drug Exp: January/2004  
Qty: 30 CAP  
Refills: 0


	4. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry drops the BS, Miranda makes nice with the alien shrubs, Viggo tells Sean what he thinks of Harry and Sean flies home. Things, unfortunately, don't go as planned.

Sean,

Come and get me--if you've the balls for it. I fucking dare you.

Harry

***

To: Sean Bean <sbean@blades.co.uk>  
From: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@meduseld.co.nz>

Subject: Re: I love you!

Sean,

Grown man? Handle yourself? Why, in the name of all that's holy, do men always say that? You know that's the sort of pride that can turn to sickness and poison inside. It's hard to ask for help, I know. It forces us to admit that we need people, and that need makes us vulnerable. But it also makes us strong. I'm either an incurable optimist or a hopeless fool, because no matter how many times I've been hurt, I can't stop needing people. I think you're the same, Sean. Under all your scars, you're the same.

Not great with relationships? You're being too hard on yourself. Life is about relationships. Nurturing them, losing them. Viggo doesn't want this to end. I know it, Sean. It's not bloody women's intuition or any of that horseshit. It's just so fucking obvious (to anyone who isn't Liv) just by looking at him. And it's obvious in every line of your messages. Relationships only end when one or both of the people involved want out. Neither one of you want to be free of the other.

Ah, this was supposed to be a quick note, and I'm teetering on the edge of writing a philosophical epic. That won't do. Out of consideration and deep affection, I'll spare you that.

Don't worry too much about Karl. It isn't like he's never made a proper fool of himself from time to time. He'll get over it.

I do understand about the airport. I'd have gladly played taxi for you and dropped you at the house if you didn't want Viggo to pick you up or to have to deal with strangers when you land. But perhaps dealing with strangers would be easier than having to face a friend. Go, and be with Viggo. You can get in touch with me once you've worked things out.

See you soon, love,  
Miranda

PS Love. The. Alien. Shrubberies. I'm thinking that we could bury the cheese grater shavings under them. They say, "We want manflesh."

***

To: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>  
From: Karl Urban <rohanwon@meduseld.co.nz>

Subject: Re: Inquiry

Bernard,

Consider me well and properly chastised. I guess I just can't help fucking up when it comes to Harry. History inevitably repeats itself over and over and over again.

I'll be in touch.

Karl

***

Sean,

You're...coming home? When? Do you have flight information? When do you need to be picked up at the airport?

Elskede, no one can take your place with me. Harry.... I won't lie to you: I can feel his pull, a sort of sexual gravity that he has been turning on me whenever we're near each other. I know I could find gratification and release if I let myself fall into him. I'm not seventeen, Sean. I want more than a good hard fuck that will knock me into a blinding orgasm.

I don't want to fall asleep in Harry's arms. I don't want to lie awake at night and listen to him breathing. I don't want to kiss him. I don't want him to kiss me.

He's the sort of man I would (if I were so inclined) meet at a hotel, the sort of man I'd walk out on after we'd fucked because that would be the only reason I would be with him. You're the sort of man I would introduce to my son, the sort of man I'd want guarding my back in a fight.

You can tie my wrists and ankles together, bind my cock, gag me, blindfold me, but that's nothing, elskede. Nothing compared to the invisible bonds that I'm wearing every minute of every day. They're stronger than rope or leather or steel, Sean. So much stronger. They're too tight for me to slip them, even if I wanted to.

Love,  
Vig

***

To: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>  
From: Sean Bean < sbean@blades.co.uk >

Thanks. For everything. I'll see you when I get in. And maybe we can plant those shrubs you're so fond of together. I think you've got a fine idea for fertilizer there.

Much love,  
Sean

***

Viggo,

My agent has all the flight details in case they're needed. But we're not going to do this in public. You're not going to meet me. It's too... It's a bad idea. So I'm coming home from the airport by taxi. I've had Dr. Cornwell prescribe a little something for the flight, so I won't be twisting myself into knots.

Don't worry.

I'll see you in less than 24 hours.

I do love you,  
Sean

***

Sean's coming home tomorrow. From the day I saw him off, I've been imagining going back to pick him up. Pacing in front of the gate. Checking and rechecking my watch. Shifting my weight from foot to foot, fidgeting from the time passengers start disembarking until I see him. Sometimes, I go to him. Sometimes I wait and let him come to me. Then I feel him warm and solid in my arms, kiss him deep enough to make him forget the horrors of flying.

I imagined everything. Except that he wouldn't want me there.

***

**ADMISSION FORM**  
Karningul Hospital, Emergency  
6757 Imladris Green  
Wellington  
(555) 555-3336

 

To be completed by patient or patient's proxy.

 **Name**  
Family name: _Mortensen_  
Given names: _Viggo Peter_

**Address**   
_3 Pelennor Field  
Wellington_

**Telephone**  
Home: _(555) 555-3945_  
Business: _(555) 555-5596_

Date of Birth: _October 20, 1958_

 **Ethnicity**  
Please select:  
[X] European  
[_] NZ European/Pakeha  
[_] Chinese  
[_] Indian  
[_] NZ Maori  
[_] Other Asian  
[_] Pacific Island  
[_] Other (please specify) __________

 **Contacts**  
Contact person: _Sean Bean_  
Relationship to them: _Partner_

Address of contact if different from above: _N/A_

Contact phone numbers:  
Home: _(555) 555-3945_  
Business: _(555) 555-5596_

 

To be completed by admitting physician.

Admitted under the care of Doctor: _J. Urgayle_

**Preliminary diagnosis**   
_Possible head trauma, concussion caused by fall. Some bruising evident around lower jaw, consistent with blunt force._

_Patient reported temporary loss of consciousness. Released after examination._

***

_*click*_

_Hi, this is Miranda. Sorry, but I'm not in. You know what to do._

_*beep*_

Mir? OhjesusfuckMir. Are you there? I... It was all a blur, Mir. A blur. I was there, and then Harry opened the door and it wasn't Viggo and then it was and -- and -- Are you sure you're not there?

Oh god, I hit Viggo.

_*click*_


	5. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things _really_ aren't going as planned. Dave appears and emails Miranda, and Karl imparts some important information to Bernard.

To: miranda otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>  
From: david wenham <secondson@gondor.co.nz>

Subject: the hell?

dear Miranda,

you remember that little chat we had in the canteen the other day? the one where you mentioned that something might be up between Viggo and Sean, but refused to elaborate?

you were right. i don't know if you know _how_ right you were. i wouldn't have guessed something like this could happen if i hadn't seen it with my own eyes.

Karl came back this morning, so i met him for breakfast. figured the guy might like a nice welcome back after spending all that time shooting with Paris. cute kid, but sheesh. boring as hell.

Karl let drop that he'd be swinging by Viggo's in the evening, although i think that might have been a slip of the tongue. you know, it's been a while since i had a good chinwag with Viggo, so i invited myself along. nothing wrong with that, right? seemed to irritate Karl a bit though. didn't know why at the time.

made sure i was waiting for Karl at his car when he got off shooting in the evening. seems taking off that wig is still taking longer than it should, because i was in and out of costume and left waiting for something like fourty minutes.

Karl seemed a bit sour on the drive over, but who knows what goes on in that guy's head? one minute he's running around like a jackanape, the next he's brooding in some corner. or maybe that's just when i'm around.

anyway, we got to Viggo's without incident. but guess who answered the door when we knocked? c'mon, guess. it was your good friend Harry! Karl immediately grabbed Harry's arm and propelled him into one of the side rooms. guess he knew he was going to be there. i made friendly with Viggo for a while in the kitchen, helped myself to a drink, but Viggo was too quiet, even for him.

asked him when Sean was getting back, and lo and behold, there was a knock on the front door. i heard Karl's and Harry's voices and some footsteps, and Viggo literally jumped out of his chair and raced for the door. didn't beat Harry, though. i followed them out into the corridor, and i could just see Sean's hair over Harry's shoulder. Viggo was pressed right up against Harry, but your friend was blocking the door. heard something go thump, then a second later Harry was ducking. second later, Viggo was laid out on the floor.

Harry said something to Sean that i couldn't hear and next thing i know, Sean's all over Harry. they're on the goddamn floor, throttling one another. Karl grabbed hold of Harry, but something must have happened, because he was sandwiched between the two of them for a moment, and then he's yelling bloody murder. i grabbed Sean, and we managed to drag the two of them away from one another. Karl literally dragged Harry out of the house.

Sean stopped fighting me once Harry was gone, but can you believe through this all, Viggo's still out cold on the floor. took me a bit to get Sean to settle down and make some sense, but once he did the two of us managed to haul Viggo to one of their cars. Sean was especially careful getting Viggo laid out in the backseat. clumsy, but careful. he covered him with his jacket, but refused to come with me to the hospital.

Viggo revived in the car, thank god, but he was kind of groggy. we had to wait for hours at the hospital, i tell you. hours. i had to fill out the forms for Viggo, because he sure didn't seem up to doing it himself. the doctor released him after a twenty-minute consultation, though, and i just got him back home a half hour ago. looks like it's not as serious as it could have been. he's in bed right now, and i've volunteered to stay and check up on him periodically. at least until the morning.

i haven't seen Sean since we got back, although there's a light on in the spare room -- the one with that hideous yellow wallpaper. you've seen it, right? anyway, i can see the light underneath the door.

i'm still not totally sure what it was i watched happen, but i thought i should give you a heads-up anyway. you seem to be tight with Sean. thought you should know before everyone else on set hears. damage control, maybe?

anyway, let me know if you hear from Karl or Harry or anybody. i'd like to have a chance to pick Karl's brain, see what he knows since he seems to be in the know.

looks like i've got to go. almost time to play nurse again.

take care and i'll talk to you tomorrow,  
Dave

***

_*click*_

_You've reached Bernard. I can't talk now, but leave a message if you want me to ring you back._

_*beep*_

Bernard? You there? It's...it's Karl. I'm sorry. So fucking sorry. I couldn't stop it. I tried but.... Christ, Bernard, Sean hit Viggo. Knocked him cold. I think Harry may have broken my fucking hand, so I can't really type.

Call me. Please.

_*click*_

***

**ADMISSION FORM**  
Karningul Hospital, Emergency  
6757 Imladris Green  
Wellington  
(555) 555-3336

 

To be completed by patient or patient's proxy.

 **Name**  
Family name: _Urban_  
Given names: _Karl_

**Address**   
_13 Edoras Heights  
Wellington_

**Telephone**  
Home: _(555) 555-4278_  
Business: _(555) 555-5596_

Date of Birth: _June 7, 1972_

 **Ethnicity**  
Please select:  
[_] European  
[X] NZ European/Pakeha  
[_] Chinese  
[_] Indian  
[_] NZ Maori  
[_] Other Asian  
[_] Pacific Island  
[_] Other (please specify) __________

 **Contacts**  
Contact person: _Miranda Otto_  
Relationship to them: ~~_Sister_~~ _Friend_

Address of contact if different from above:  
 _1 Edoras Heights  
Wellington_

Contact phone numbers:  
Home: _(555) 555-7568_  
Business: _(555) 555-5596_

 

To be completed by admitting physician.

Admitted under the care of Doctor: _J. Urgayle_

**Preliminary diagnosis**   
_Dislocation of middle and ring fingers on left hand. X-ray reveals fractures on the fourth and fifth metacarpals._

_Hand wrapped as patient resistant to having cast. Follow-up with personal physician encouraged in several days to reassess possible need for cast. Patient discharged._

***

_*click*_

_It's Karl. If you wanted someone else, I can't help you there, mate. If you're looking for me, leave a message so I can phone you later._

_*beep*_

Karl, it's Miranda. Pick up the phone. Pick up the fucking phone Karl! *pause* Not home? Not home, not home, not home. Listen. Sean left a message on my machine, and Dave sent me an e-mail about what happened with Viggo. We need to talk Karl. Call me as soon as you get this. If I don't answer at home, try me on my cell.

***

_*click*_  
[Sean] Hi. Viggo and I aren't available right now, but if you'd like to leave your name and number..."  
[Viggo] No. Don't say *that*.  
[Sean] ...we'll get back to you.  
[Viggo] Wait. Hold on...

_*beep*_

Sean? Sean, please answer. Sean, pick up if you're there. Viggo? Dave? Somebody please just pick up the phone. Fuck!

_*slam*_

***

[Karl] Hello?

[Bernard] Karl, it's Bernard.

[Karl] Bernard, thank god.

[Bernard] I got your message, Karl. What's going on? Sean is in Wellington? He hit Viggo? Your hand?

[Karl] One at a time. Please. I've got a raging headache and my hand....

OK, from the beginning then. I went over to Viggo and Sean's like I promised. I had a bit more incentive, though, because when I got home, there was a message from Sean. He was so pissed off at me, Bernard. Went on about some pictures. Said they couldn't have taken themselves. I had no idea what he was going on about, but I figured Harry would. Dave tagged along.

[Bernard] David?

[Karl] Don't ask. He caught up with me, and I tried to shake him off, but he was more bloody tenacious than Orlando on a sugar rush.

[Bernard] Hmmm.... Go on.

[Karl] Turns out it was a good thing Dave did come. When we got there, Harry was over, and the first thing I did was pull him to the side to find out what was going on. Dave and Viggo kept themselves occupied.

[Bernard] Did you find anything out?

[Karl] Well, I asked about the pictures, and Harry just smiled and pulled something out of his wallet. Bernard, it was...a photo of him and Viggo and.... And they were...were....

[Bernard] Fucking?

[Karl] Yeah. Viggo was tied up. It was... Never mind. But I looked at it, and I couldn't imagine it happening. I mean Viggo has Sean, right?

[Bernard] Having someone keeps you from taking what other people offer you?

[Karl] That's not what I meant. *sigh* I meant that I can't see Viggo.... Harry doesn't seem his type.

[Bernard] No?

[Karl] No. I'd have an easier time believing if it were Dave in the pictures. Not Harry. So I looked Harry straight in the eyes and said, _This isn't real._ He smiled even brighter, and said, _Doesn't matter if it's real, mate. Matters whether or not people believe it's real._

[Bernard] Hang on. You're saying he sent doctored photos to Sean? Why?

[Karl] Right when I ask him for clarification, there's a knock on the door, and Harry goes to answer it. Viggo is practically running from the kitchen, but Harry gets there first. Viggo slams into his back. Well, it's Sean at the door. Harry's eyes go wide, and he says Sean's name. Sean drops his bag and swings at Harry. Harry ducks, and Sean can't check his motion. He nails Viggo on the jaw, knocks him cold.

[Bernard] Oh, no.

[Karl] Oh, yes. Viggo hits the floor and his head makes this nasty thud. Sean's standing there in shock. Harry looks down at Viggo, then up at Sean, and says, _Well done, mate._

[Bernard] You're joking, right?

[Karl] Does this sound like I'm joking? Believe me, I wish to god I were.

So Sean throws himself at Harry, knocks them both off their feet. They're beating the hell out of each other, and Dave and I have to wade in to try and stop them. Dave gets a good hold on Sean, who doesn't look particularly steady, and I can see Harry's going to clock Sean and he won't be able to stop the punch. As Harry swings, I bring up my hand to block it, and Harry plows into my hand.

I could feel the jolt of it to my shoulder, and then there was this wave of nausea and my hand started to go numb.

I grabbed Harry with my one good hand and hauled him out of the house. I yelled at him, but all I can remember at the end was just screaming, _You broke my hand, you bastard. You broke my fucking hand._ Harry stormed off, and I went to the emergency room.

[Bernard] And the hand?

[Karl] Two dislocated fingers and two light fractures in the hand bones. You know, the ones that go from your wrist to your fingers?

[Bernard] Karl, I don't think I need to tell you what sort of mess this has become. People had to go to the hospital. Reporters for _The Herald_ will eat that story up if they get their hands on it. And Peter.... What do you think that Peter's likely to say about it?

[Karl] I know. Don't think that I don't fucking know.

[Bernard] Where's Harry?

[Karl] Don't know. He just drove off. Fucker just drove off and left me standing there.

[Bernard] Karl, is there something about Harry, something that--

[Karl] Listen, Bernard. I...have to go. I took some of the pain medication, and right now, I'm beginning to feel a bit loopy.

[Bernard] *sigh* I should let you go then. But Karl...?

[Karl] Yes?

[Bernard] Take care of yourself, Karl.

[Karl] I take it that is a royal command?

[Bernard] Of course.

[Karl] Then I'm honor bound to obey, lord.

[Bernard] Yes. You are. Now, get some rest.

[Karl] I will. Thanks for calling, Bernard.

*click*


	6. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences continue to pile up, as rash actions are not so easily rectified. Miranda and Dave hijack the story briefly, while Harry -- who continues to be a frustrating bastard -- plays his cards close to his chest, and Viggo swims erratically towards coherence. Finally, Bernard calls Harry's bluff, Dave tries some damage control, and Sean refuses to come in from the garden.

_*click*_

_Harry's place. Leave a message._

_*beep*_

Harold? _*long-suffering sigh*_ It's Bernard. Why don't you ring me ASAP. I hear things have been going south down there.

Hope to hear from you soon.

_*click*_

***

_*click*_

_[Sean] Hi. Viggo and I aren't available right now, but if you'd like to leave your name and number...  
[Viggo] No. Don't say *that*.  
[Sean] ...we'll get back to you.  
[Viggo] Wait. Hold on..._

_*beep*_

Viggo? Fran here. There's been a slight change in tomorrow's shooting schedule. We'll need you to report to the set at five a.m. instead of six. Sorry you weren't told earlier. Peter and I found ourselves rehashing the Elrond and Aragorn scene this evening, and well, there's been some last minute changes. _*laughs*_ But that's nothing new, right?

See you then. Ta!

_*click*_

***

_[Written on crumpled piece of paper in wastebasket, spare bedroom.]_

~~Viggo,~~

~~Dear Viggo,~~

Vig,

I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. What the hell was I thinking? ~~Those pictures, dammit. I can't get them out of my head. Why didn't you tell me?~~

Oh, good Christ, I hit you. I fucking hit you.

Oh my God, I hit you.

***

To: miranda otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>  
From: david wenham <secondson@gondor.co.nz>

Subject: sleeping?

dear Miranda,

glad you came by. sorry i didn't hear your message the first time. i was checking up on the great concussed one, and it was already so late that it didn't even occur to me to check the machine. well, that, and it's not my house. i guess Sean's not answering the phone. can't say i blame him, either.

and yeah, it's later now, and you're probably back at home, tucked up in bed, so i'm going to type very quietly so as not to wake you. ;)

thought i'd let you know that i think it was best that we didn't go storming into the spare room like you wanted. about 20 minutes after you left Sean finally saw fit to grace me with his presence. ...ok, i actually think he was lulled into a false sense of security because it was so quiet out here, but that's not the point. i was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking some of that abominable instant coffee they've got lying around in an effort to keep awake for my next round of Viggo-checking, when in stumbles Sean. think he was still a bit shaken. did i mention i can't blame him? think i'm still a bit shaken up myself, despite my cool, manly demeanor. and that's why you love me. c'mon, admit it. sensitive AND sexy.

so Sean comes into the kitchen, and he barely looks at me. instead, he busies himself in the freezer, pulls out a bag of frozen peas, looks at it, grunts, presses it to the side of his face, and _then_ he turns around.

wow.

looks like Harry has a wicked punch, because Sean's going to have one hell of a shiner. looks like there's some bruising on his upper arms too, and god knows where else. and did i mention the split lip? ow. made him sit down at the table while i went to rummage in the bathroom for medical supplies. found myself some cotton balls, bit of iodine (the bottle looked like it had been in there for ages, btw. does nobody accidentally cut themselves around here? or are they just flirting with infection?) and managed to clean up his lip until it looked almost normal. if you ignored the puffiness, of course. and the actual split. and if you didn't look at his eye either. i did a good job if i do say so myself.

he just sat there, all through Nurse Dave's attentions, staring into space. even when i tilted his chin up so i could get a better look at the damage. when i was done i sat down across from him, watching him stare at nothing, waiting for him to say something, but eventually i got bored with waiting and told him i thought he could throw a better punch than that. that'd be when he got up, walked to the kitchen door, and stepped out onto the porch. guess levity wasn't the way to get the guy to loosen up, was it?

anyway, he's out there right now. i tell you, with the exception of the fuss earlier this evening, it's the strangest thing i've ever seen! thought he was going to sit on the steps or something, have a good think, but no. sure, the sort-of frozen peas are on the steps, but not Sean. i've flipped on the outside light, and i can just see him, out near the empty gardens on the north side, digging in the dirt. it's almost pitch black out there, and yet he's digging away!

maybe he's trying to tunnel his way out, i don't know. he took those little potted bushes you pointed out to me with him, though, so i suppose he's actually doing something. don't know how long he's going to stay out there in the dark, though.

it's weird. but he's doing something other than hide, so i guess that's good. thought that might make you feel better. see? sensitive to your needs and all, aren't i?

take care,  
Dave

***

**WETA Digital/WETA Workshop**  
Internal Memo

**_For immediate distribution._ **

To: WETA Digital Staff  
From: Richard Taylor

Subject: Use and abuse of facilities

_It has come to my attention that one or more employees have been using our facilities after hours without authorization._

_A reminder: Using our systems for non-WETA approved projects is strictly prohibited, and may be grounds for immediate dismissal. Anyone working on projects after hours is required to present his/her badge and sign in with security. NO EXCEPTIONS._

_Personal requests from the ~~LotR cast~~ public are also not to be entertained._

_...And a word to the wise -- Next time, don't leave the photo paper in the printer._

_Richard Taylor,  
Company Director_

***

Today was very bad day. Was also very good day. The good and bad were all snarled up in each other so that I'm not sure where one stops and the other begins.

Sean came back. Good.  
Fight erupted at his house. Bad.  
Sean tried to pummel Harry to bloody pulp. Very good.  
Sean hurt Viggo by accident. Very bad.  
Karl gone missing and won't call me back. Bad.  
Dave kissed me. Good. Very good. Surprisingly good.

It's possible to tell a lot about a man from the way he kisses. Dave doesn't close his eyes. Never touches me at all, except with his mouth. First, his lips brush mine. Soft, hesitant. Teasing against mine, back and forth, until my hands tangle in his hair and hold him still, so I can bring our mouths together. Some men regard kissing as a necessary evil, a part of the "kiss, give the breasts a quick grope, then go for the gold" combo. Dave kisses like he could do just that all night long.

When it's over he smiles that lopsided smile. "You've been holding out on me, Mir. You kiss better than Eowyn," he says. And I laugh and tell him that we're even since he kisses MUCH better than Faramir. There's a sort of an awkward silence then, and he steps back, away from me. It's very quiet. Dave and Miranda, champions of wit and amusement, struck speechless? Our castmates wouldn't believe it.

We do complement each other. Dave's sense of humor is not as sharp as mine, and he turns it on himself ~~as much as~~ more than others. I've honed mine to a weapon; he uses his as a shield. Cate suspects that there is a lot going on underneath Dave's good humor. What he lets other people see of him. Of course, she says that about me and my wit too. Cate can be a real ~~bitch~~ friend sometimes.

Dave? Sure, he's quirky in an endearing way, like how he refuses to capitalize anything except names when he writes. And even though we might be on the set together all day, he sends me these really long e-mails at night. Messages full of brilliant things like "i'm going to type very quietly so as not to wake you" that make me smile. And....

And I simply must stop thinking about this. Absolutely REFUSE to consider relationship with movie husband, no matter how excellently he kisses. It would be far too cliche.

Alien shrubbery update:  
Dry. Poor babies. Watered them before I came home.

***

_*click*_

_You've reached Fran's voicemail. Leave a message, and I get back with you as soon as I can._

_*beep*_

Um, Fran, it's David. Listen, I thought I should tell you I don't think Viggo's going to make that call tomorrow. You see, the doctor told him to take it easy for a few days. Actually, he wanted to keep Viggo overnight for "observation," but Viggo wouldn't stay. At any rate, I have to keep checking on him, which usually results in waking him up. He's still shaky, and well, I just don't think he's going to be of much use to you tomorrow.

Just thought you should know. Bye.

_*click*_

***

_*click*  
*beep*_

[Fran] David, are you ever going to put a message on your machine? Do you have any idea how annoying--

[Peter] Ask him about Viggo.

[Fran] You mentioned a doctor wanting to "keep Viggo overnight"--

[Peter] Were they at the hospital? Why? What happened?

[Fran] Peter, do you want to leave the message or shall I?

[Peter] No. Go ahead.

[Fran] Fine. David, please call, and let us know what's going on.

_*click*_

***

Head hurts. Pounding. Nausea crests with each pulse of pain. I remember Sean's fist coming at me. Don't remember anything else. Woke up in the car. Smelled Sean. Was just his jacket. Dave driving me to hospital. Have a bit of a concussion.

Have a jacket that smells like Sean. But no Sean. Where's Sean?

***

To: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>  
From: Harry Sinclair <isildur@gondor.co.nz>

Subject: Your Message

Bernard,

Good hearing from you! Hope that all is restful and relaxing in England. I would have called, but it was too late by the time I got your message. I didn't think that a 3:40 AM phone call was very polite.

Things are a bit hectic down here. There's been some bad weather that has buggered up the shooting a bit. Other than that, all is well.

Regards,

Harry

***

To: david wenham <secondson@gondor.co.nz>  
From: miranda otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>

Subject: RE: sleeping?

Dave,

Is this e-mail like when the person you're sleeping next to shakes you awake to ask you if you're asleep? You're going to be hanging about online all night, aren't you, geek boy? To stay awake?

You, uh, want some company? I mean staying up all night long is easier when you're not doing it alone. And...since I'm such a nice person (you may feel free to elaborate on precisely how nice at length), I'm willing to stop at The Wicked Bean and bring real coffee. And pastry. And since I don't have call tomorrow and you are without transport, I can drop you where you need, love.

What do you think?

Miranda

***

BEING A HERO IS DANGEROUS WORK  
Two of the cast of Peter Jackson's epic _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy discovered how difficult being an epic hero can be. Viggo Mortensen (Aragorn) and Karl Urban (Eomer) were treated for minor injuries at the Karningul Hospital Emergency Room and released. The actors, many of whom are performing their own stunt work, have spent months training on weaponry and boating and horseback riding to prepare for their roles.

There is no word on whether this will have any impact on the filming schedule.

***

To: Harry Sinclair <isildur@gondor.co.nz>  
From: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>

Subject: Re: Your Message

Harold,

Let's not play whatever game you're at, all right? I hear that things have not been going well between Viggo and Sean, and you're at the centre of that particular maelstrom.

People talk, Harry.

I don't think I will ever understand your persistent desire to stir the pot, but this time things appear to have slipped entirely out of your control, wouldn't you agree?

At the very least, it might be time to fess up to Karl, hmm? Given that you broke his hand and all.

Yours,  
Bernard

***

[Fran] _*sleepily*_ Hello?

[David] Hi Fran, it's Dave.

[Fran] Dave... _David!_ What is going on this evening? Viggo's been to a doctor? Is he sick? Injured? Was he out with the horses again? They didn't--

[David] Listen, don't worry.

[Peter] _*in background, groggily*_ Who's that on the phone?

[Fran] Go back to sleep, Peter. It's just David.

[Peter] Dave? Did you find out--

[Fran] I'm about to. Go back to sleep. I'll straighten it out.

[Peter] Mmmph.

[Fran] ...You were saying?

[David] Yeah. It's all right. Viggo's going to be ok, but um, you remember the surfboard incident?

[Fran] _*testily*_ Yes?

[David] I think Viggo's going to need a bit more time in makeup for a while once he's on his feet again... He's, um... Well, there's been a bit of horseplay, ended in tears. That sort of thing. You know, boys being boys and all that.

...Fran? You still there?

[Fran] _*sighs*_ Yes. Do you want to tell me what happened, or are you going to leave me to guess?

[David] Oh, you know -- Harry and Sean got into a bit of a pissing contest, and looks like Viggo's the loser. But don't worry, it's all under control. Sure, Vig won't be able to come to set for the next day or so, but--

[Fran] Wait. Sean? He's not back from break. He's not due for another week and a half.

[David] Yeah. Flew in early. That's not important, though. Viggo's hit his head. Slipped, went bang. Doctor says it's just a slight concussion, though, so no worries.

[Fran] He's all right, then.

[David] Yep.

[Fran] You're sure?

[David] Yep.

[Fran] If this sets our shooting schedule back, I'll have all your hides.

[David] _*chuckling*_ It's under control, don't you worry. You've got Dave on the case. ...And Fran?

[Fran] Yes?

[David] You, uh, you might not want to count on Karl for the next couple days either. Sleep well! G'night!

_*click*_

[Fran] Oh Christ.

***

_kissed Miranda today. 'bout time._

_~D_

***

To: miranda otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>  
From: david wenham <secondson@gondor.co.nz>

Subject: Re: sleeping?

dear Mir,

yeah, you got me. not getting any sleep tonight, and surfing the porn sites is doing nothing for me. did you know you have to _pay_ for most of them? what kind of a set-up is that?

company would be nice. your company would be even better. especially armed with pastries. The Bean makes some great danishes. i think they have raspberry jam in the middle.

besides, i bet you'd like to see what i'm seeing right now, right? Sean's still out there, Mir. granted, as far as i can tell he finished planting the shrubs some time ago, but he's still sitting out there. refuses to come in. even set some tea out on the step, hoping it'd draw him back to the house. no such luck. will try crumpets later if you'll bring them.

looking forward to seeing you. don't take too long.

see you soon,  
Dave

***

_*click*_

_Hi, this is Miranda. Sorry, but I'm not in. You know what to do._

_*beep*_

Hey, Mir. S'me. Karl. Got your message. 'M very tired. They got me on these pills. C'n hardly keep my eyes open. Broken fingers! _*laughs*_ Hmm. Not good.

_*click*_

***

_mmm. she tastes like raspberries._

_~D_

***

To: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>  
From: Harry Sinclair <isildur@gondor.co.nz>

Subject: Re: Your Message

Bernard,

Things aren't going well between Viggo and Sean? Well, Bernard, you know how these on-set flings go. People thrown together; interaction is deep, intense. More times than not, things cool as rapidly as they heated up. Add the tensions of the on-set romance to that of the long-distance relationship (Sean's little holiday in England), and well...frankly, it's not surprising when things start to crumble.

Can't imagine what that has to do with me.

Come now, we've all made that mistake at one point or another, Bernard, haven't we? Believing passion and enthusiasm and novelty are a gauge of commitment and substance? Some people never learn to distinguish between them. Those of us who are smarter do and don't make the same mistake twice.

Harry

***

To: cate blanchett <galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz>  
From: miranda otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>

Subject: Our Wager

Cate,

Remember that wager that we made the day on the beach? The one about Dave? Well, it's possible that I might owe you dinner.

Miranda

***

[Karl] H'llo?  
[Harry] Karl?  
[Karl] H'rry?  
[Harry] Yeah. It's me.  
[Karl] H'rry...?  
[Harry] Yeah. You alright, Karl?  
[Karl] Y' broke m' hand, H'rry. Y' broke m' fuckin' hand. B'stard.

_*slam*_

***

_*click*_

_It's Karl. If you wanted someone else, I can't help you there, mate. If you're looking for me, leave me a message so I can phone you later._

_*beep*_

Karl. It's Miranda. Got your message, and you sound like hell, love. Hope you're resting. Broken fingers?!?! Fran's going to throw a fit. Listen, if you need anything, call me. I'm not shieldmaidening at all tomorrow. Try me on my cell first, 'cause I'm not sure where I'm going to be. Dave says to replay the message, substituting his name, title, etc., for mine where appropriate. Ciao!

_*click*_

***

_[Unpostmarked letter left in the mail slot at Karl's.]_

Karl,

I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you, but it happened anyway.

...Guess that makes us even.

Harry


	7. Bets and Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernard attempts to cut through Harry's bull, Cate gets ready to collect on her bet, Dave and Miranda do some snooping, and Sean comes in from the garden. Harry drops the facade, Miranda shares news with Cate and prods Sean, and Viggo writes a short note. Sean takes stock of more than just his garden, while Bernard attempts to handle Harry, and Cate emails Miranda. And finally, Miranda fills Cate in, and Viggo gets up before the rest of the (now-exhausted) household.

To: Harry Sinclair <isildur@gondor.co.nz>  
From: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>

Subject: Re: Your Message

Harold,

I really can't comprehend as to why you persist in this fiction. We both know that you're perfectly aware of what has been going on, and I know you well enough to know that this particular mess has your fingerprints all over it.

If I didn't know better, however, I'd think your machinations were stemming from a recently acquired maudlin streak. But that would be foolish on my part, wouldn't it? Just as it would be foolish for me to presume that any of this had to do with Karl.

Yours,  
Bernard

***

To: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>  
From: Cate Blanchett <galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz>

Subject: Re: Our Wager

Miranda Otto wrote:  
> Cate,  
> Remember that wager that we made the day on  
> the beach? The one about Dave? Well, it's  
> possible that I might owe you dinner.  
> Miranda

Oh, really? I am raising a virtual eyebrow, but I can't say I didn't expect it. (Just not so soon.) Well, I look forward to our dinner, love. And all the details, of course.

There's a lovely Indian restaurant just off of Centre St. that I've been dying to try. I don't think it's _terribly_ expensive. Shall I make reservations, or...?

~ Cate

***

_been an interesting day. other than Sean missing Harry and clocking Viggo, that is. although i must say i make a good nurse. one cleaned up Sean, and one safe-as-houses Viggo._

_who knew it could get so dull looking after the stricken and the sulky? neither Viggo nor Sean seem to be up for a nice chat. and it must be a universal truth -- there is nothing on television in the middle of the night. nothing. found myself mucking about on Viggo's pc instead. asked him if he minded me using it, and he said "mmph," which of course means "yes."_

_emailed Mir again. knew she was falling for my devastatingly handsome portrayal of Faramir, but..._

_she came over for a while. she is beautiful. damn near takes my breath away every time i see her. managed to take my breath away in a completely new way today. very soft lips. lovely, expressive face. makes you want to make sure not to miss a moment. when it was over, she tipped her head forward in order to hide behind her hair. totally unlike her. couldn't help but reach out and brush it out of her face just so i could keep looking. would love to lie back and have that hair fall towards me, blocking out everything except her expression._

_told her she'd been holding out on me. she laughed._

_left soon after._

_Sean finally left his self-imposed prison, went out to the garden after a quick stop with Emergency Room Dave. don't get that guy. digging in the dirt at all hours. but to each his own, i suppose._

_also updated Peter and Fran. think i bought Viggo a couple days before full explanations will be needed._

_busied myself online again, since there is no sleep for the wicked. the internet's like tv. billions of websites, and nothing to do. poked through Viggo's files instead. he's got a lot of his photography on that thing. should move some of it onto disc, because he's going to run out of room soon. might want to consider buying some more memory too. will have to mention it once he's up and around again._

_found a folder very obviously titled BWPhotos, decided to give 'em a look. some beautiful, strange stuff in there. pictures of the cast, the crew, sure -- scenery too. dead things as well. disturbing and striking. after i finished looking at them (with breaks to absorb it all) i tried a couple of the sub-folders. Henry makes a good subject. interesting boy. too bad he can't visit us more often._

_found some photos, though, that i don't think Vig's going to put in a show. very... personal. one in particular was very striking -- b &w nude from the back, lit from the front. very nice. subject's head is bowed so you can only see the back of his neck, his ears and a bit of his hair. arms crossed over chest. excellent physique._

_didn't realize who it was at first. not until i saw one of the companion pieces, that is. Sean, sitting on the steps of the porch, mug of something in hand, grinning at the camera and naked as a jaybird._

_you'd think i would have realized it was Sean right off -- spent enough time staring at his ass in those Sharpe movies._

_there's reams of these things, too. i had no idea Sean was such a willing subject, nor that Viggo was snapping away like this. would have come over more often otherwise._

_Miranda emailed me while i was looking. offered to bring coffee and pastries. how could i refuse?_

_sadly, she did not bring crumpets. pointed out Sean-in-the-garden to her, and we sat in the kitchen waiting for him. almost entirely fruitless endeavour._

_broke out the danishes. very nice. must remember to excessively tip Wicked Bean folks next time i'm there. too much raspberry filling. got it all over my fingers. lovely Miranda was kind enough to remove the excess. slipped each finger in her mouth in turn. could feel her tongue curling around each as she lapped up the filling. felt it down to the soles of my feet. even caught my thumbs between her lips. funny, don't remember getting much on them._

_she had icing at the corner of her mouth, so did the gentlemanly thing. swiped it gently up with my own tongue, lazily licked at her lips (just to make sure she was less sticky, of course), then accidentally placed dollop of raspberry near her collarbone. had to shift the shoulder of her shirt to get at her bare skin, but am sticking to accident story. she curled her fingers in my hair while i was pressed against her neck and made these little whimpering noises in the back of her throat. oh fuck._

_and that was when Sean came back in. pfft. he really has excellent timing lately. Mir's eyes went wide. saw them when she pushed me away. didn't matter though. guy's so withdrawn he wouldn't notice if a herd of gazelles was bearing down on him. stopped near Viggo's door, then went back to spare room. he should just bloody well bite the bullet and go in! what's Viggo going to do? snore at him? yeah._

_went to check on Viggo. woke him up. still groggy, but making more sense. when i came back, Miranda was sitting in front of the computer, clicking through some pictures. guess i left the files open. oops. she's a very resourceful woman, though, because she found some that i hadn't had the pleasure of seeing. must hook up with her in order to snoop through other people's things more often._

_Viggo's a master with the camera, i tell you. amazing angles. i am especially impressed with how he got that wonderful up-close profile of Sean while still remaining in the picture himself. granted, there's no room for daylight between them, but... a timer, maybe? wonder if Sean gets tired waiting for Viggo to set up the camera. does it make it harder for him to stay hard with Viggo fussing with angles and lenses before coming to him? you certainly wouldn't know, looking at these things. would love to be there to see. by the looks of it, so would Miranda. she was very prettily pink when we got to the last file._

_she's asleep on the couch now. looks flushed. nice look for her._

_~D_

***

Vig,

I hate this fucking journal. No idea why you insisted that I try to keep it, either. I keep wanting to throw it out or use it for note-taking instead of detailing bits of my life that I've already damn well experienced. I don't believe in all this inner-world shite.

I want to please you now, though, probably because I have no hope in hell of doing so. All I want is for the last 24 hours to be erased. You're not going to be able to forgive me for punching you, I know that. Probably wouldn't have forgiven me for nailing Harry if I'd managed to off the bat either.

If I put my ear up against the door to ~~our~~ your bedroom, I can hear you snoring, and it's comforting. I want to open the door and go to you, but I know that I won't be able to keep from asking -- Can you forgive me? Do you still love me? -- and if you say yes, I know it'll lead to other questions that I can't bring myself to ask. How do I ignore the evidence of my own eyes?

Sean

_[Journal tossed in trash, spare bedroom.]_

***

To: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>  
From: Harry Sinclair <isildur@gondor.co.nz>

Subject: Re: Your Message

Bernard,

You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, mate, but you're on dangerous ground here. Do the smart thing: back the fuck off!

Harry

***

To: cate blanchett <galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz>  
From: miranda otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>

Subject: RE: Our Wager

Cate,

No reservations are necessary. Not just yet. I mean, sure, I like Dave. Like him lots. He's fun and wicked clever. And before you ask, no, I still don't believe he has been flirting with me this whole bloody time.

Ah, but he has those eyes. Those deft fingers. That great ass. And his mouth.... Fucking Christ, Cate, his mouth.

However...there is a world of difference between some friendly snogging and well, something that goes a bit beyond the friendly snogging. And there's no indication there is (or will be) anything happening beyond that.

So I may still win the bet! Though the prospect pleases me a bit less today than it did yesterday.

Miranda

PS When are you going to be back in town? There's been so much going on. Things are buggered ten ways to Tuesday, and I'm going to shoot, stab, strangle, drown, electrocute, eviscerate, and dismember Harry-fucking-Sinclair. Then I will set the remains ablaze and dump the ashes in a sewer.

***

_[Letter slid under door in spare bedroom]_

Sean,

If you didn't want me to pick you up from the airport, you probably don't want me to come in there, though it's getting harder and harder for Dave to restrain me. Because right now I really want to shake you and tell you not to be a great a sodding fool!

Viggo's lying in the next room, Sean. Alone. He's sleeping--did I mention the ALONE part?--wrapped in your bloody jacket. While I'm sure the jacket is toasty, it's nothing to curling up next to a warm body (especially when one's feeling out of sorts). Perhaps that would also help with the little shivers that run through him every now and then. Perhaps then he wouldn't be tossing about, murmuring your name over and over.

Just a thought.

Miranda

PS Love you. Am certain Vig does too.

***

_[Letter--addressed, stamped and sealed, but not posted--acting as one of several similar bookmarks in a journal of chocolate-brown leather.]_

Karl,

After you hung up on me, I stopped by to see how you were doing. You were out cold, Karl, didn't twitch or stir at all. And you left the bloody door unlocked, you daft bastard. Anyone could have strolled in. You're lucky it was just me.

There are days and nights (especially nights) when I wish for just a portion of your easy forgetfulness. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier. Like today, looking down at you, I wouldn't have to remember all the times I fucked you from sleep to wakefulness, and I wouldn't be tempted to slide my hands between your thighs, spreading them and lifting you up as I pressed down and into you. I wouldn't have to remember how your brow furrowed and you'd look almost anxious the closer you got to the edge.

I don't know how you can forget things like that without even trying, while I can't forget them no matter how hard I try.

Harry

***

_[Written in a shaky hand on a slip of paper and slipped under the door of spare bedroom]_

 ~~I don't...~~ ~~We should...~~ ~~I need...~~ ~~_We_ need to...~~

Please, Sean... Why...?

***

To: Harry Sinclair <isildur@gondor.co.nz>  
From: Bernard Hill <bhill@iceberg.co.uk>

Subject: Re: Your Message

Harold,

I'm sorry you feel that way. A man needs his friends, Harry, and while I am reluctant to point it out, I believe you are running rather low in that particular currency. You can use all the help you can get.

Again, my apologies for touching what appears to be a rather raw nerve. Before I "back the fuck off," I'll simply extend the offer of an ear to bend, should you desire it.

Yours,  
Bernard

***

To: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>  
From: Cate Blanchett <galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz>

Subject: Re: Our Wager

Miranda,

miranda otto wrote:  
> And before you ask, no, I still don't  
> believe he has been flirting with me  
> this whole bloody time.

That's all right, love. I can wait until you come around to the truth.

> Ah, but he has those eyes. Those deft  
> fingers. That great ass. And his  
> mouth.... Fucking Christ, Cate, his  
> mouth.

:) I thought as much. Don't tell me I've been the only one studying our Mr. Wenham when he's not looking. We both know that's not true.

> So I may still win the bet! Though  
> the prospect pleases me a bit less  
> today than it did yesterday.

Aha.

> PS When are you going to be back in  
> town?

I'm due to come back soon, I believe. Peter seems to want to do some pickups and cutaways around Gimli's Lorien gift, and he's pressing hard to get it done as soon as I return. Has the schedule tightened again and nobody remembered to tell me?

> I'm going to shoot, stab, strangle,  
> drown, electrocute, eviscerate, and  
> dismember Harry-fucking-Sinclair.  
> Then I will set the remains ablaze  
> and dump the ashes in a sewer.

That's very _vivid._ But love, isn't that a general state of affairs between you two? Shall I ask, or would you prefer to tell me over _dinner_ when I get back?

~ Cate

***

_Gardener's Chronicle: A Ten Year Journal of Your Garden's Growth_

**Plant inventory:**

**Botanical name:** Cupressus macrocarpa Goldcrest  
 **Common name:** Goldcrest (Cypress)  
  
 **Features:** Narrow, columnar shape. Feathery foliage, brilliant yellow while young.  
 **Average height:** 150-175cm*  
 **Exposure:** Part Shade/Part Sun. Thrives in mild climates. Prefers moist, well-drained soil. Water well until established.

 **Quantity:** 4  
 **Price per unit:** ???  
 **Supplier:** Local art fair, Wellington.  
 **Location:** North bed, near fence.

 **Notes:**  
*Topiary. Not representative of actual height. Spiral shape, ball on top. Need trimming as they grow. Caution -- cypresses do not tolerate too much pruning.

Planted in north beds near fence in order to keep out of drying winds. Planted in middle of night. By me. Reminder -- check to make sure they have been planted straight. Too dark to make sure they weren't leaning when placed in bed. Purchased by Viggo and Miranda at local art fair while I was on break. Viggo's suggestion. ~~Not a surprise.~~ Guess he was thinking of me.

...I was thinking of him. Before, and when I planted them. It's easier to think with your fingers in the dirt than it is with a pen in hand.

And I think I'm beginning to be able to absorb some things. I still don't know what to do about Harry and Viggo, but that will come in time, I hope. I've gone through this before. It's not like I can't manage again.

Miranda left me a note. Shoved it unceremoniously under the door. I guess I'm lucky to have escaped a verbal barrage. I'll have to thank Dave later. When I bent down to pick it up, though, I found another piece of paper under it.

I believe I just might be a bastard of the highest order.

Brawling like a common thug, hiding like a whipped dog, and now putting Viggo through ~~whatever this is~~ all of this.

I've pushed things to this point, no matter what his part in it has been. _I_ have. I could have stopped myself from swinging at Harry if I'd just taken a second to breathe. I could have, but I didn't.

So I did what I could. I took Miranda's advice and went to ~~our~~ Viggo's room. He was asleep. He looked... smaller, somehow. Even when I was young and a real brawler, I'd never stuck around to see the after-effects of a smart punch to the face. It's not pretty. One side of his jaw is mottling in a hideous mixture of purple and red. _I did that to him._ Jesus.

Just like Miranda said, he was wrapped in my jacket. I don't know why whomever put him to bed didn't take it away and cover him over with something sensible. I untangled it from him, though -- gently, so he wouldn't wake up, then folded and hung it over the back of the chair. Covered him with the quilt instead.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a while, watching him sleep. Brushed a bit of hair out of his eyes. Considered getting some ice for the bruises, but I was paralysed by the thought that he might wake up and order me out when the cold touched his face.

I thought that was all I was going to do. Sit with him for a bit, then go back to the other room, but he started to _shudder._ Just little tremors, mind you, but enough to have me worried. So I did the instinctive thing -- I pulled aside the quilt, lay down and curled myself around him. It was all too familiar. Almost as if none of this had ever happened. As if Harry hadn't stepped foot into Viggo's life.

Viggo quieted, after a time, and I spent the next while listening to his breathing, hoping to stave any new tremors off with my presence alone. I could feel my own inhalations and exhalations fall into step with his, and I considered just letting myself drift off to sleep beside him.

I left before I gave in to that whim.

When I came back out of the bedroom, I found Miranda sitting up on the couch, Dave's head in her lap, watching as the darkness outside the window turned to grey. She turned her head and smiled at me. Wiggled out from under Dave, who continued sleeping, and came over to stand next to me. I had no idea she was so tall. I've never had a reason to take note before.

She didn't say anything either. Just smiled, patted my arm and looked at me. I managed a weak smile back. I think that satisfied her on some level, because she leaned over, brushed her lips lightly over my cheek, and went back to sit near Dave.

What a mess.

***

To: Cate Blanchett <galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz>  
From: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>

Subject: News

Cate,

Have a bit more time to write now that Dave has finally fallen asleep. And, no, it's nothing like that. We're at Sean and Viggo's.

Oh, Cate, I'm not entirely sure what's going on, but things have been mad here. Viggo had a bad spell at a rehearsal a few days back. He was really on the edge. So I e-mailed Sean, who, as it turns out, was also in a state. Harry's been fucking with both of them. The details are still terribly murky, but I'm working on that.

Anyhow, Sean flew back from break almost two weeks early, and there was a fight. I'll give you the short version: Sean hit Viggo. (In his defense, he was swinging for Harry, who, unfortunately, managed to duck.) Knocked him out. Viggo has a concussion. Harry tried to hit Sean, Karl got between them; Harry hit (and broke) Karl's hand.

Don't you wish you were here?

Right now, Karl's at home in a painkiller daze (which is most annoying as I'm certain he knows things). Viggo's sleeping in the bedroom. Dave has crashed on the sofa. Sean is locked in their spare room doing god knows what. It's a bloody disaster.

That's how the kiss thing happened with Dave. It started as a friendly sort of hug and...evolved from there. Hell, it may still be evolving.

I so resent your implication I've been eyeing Dave up. Please. I don't ogle my friends ~~very much~~. In fact, I'm so far removed from ogling that I have no comments whatsoever about Sean's ass or Viggo's shoulders or Karl's hands. No comments at all.

Ah, I think that I'd best try to catch a bit of sleep myself. Hmm, I could either share space with Viggo, Sean, or Dave. Decisions. Decisions. What's a girl to do?

'Night,  
Miranda

***

I woke up under the quilt. Sean's jacket was gone. Once I opened my eyes, I saw it folded over the chair in typical Sean style. Why'd he take it away? Where the hell is he? Why didn't he stay?

I still feel a little off, like I'm floating loose inside my skin instead of being anchored in place, but at least my head is clear. Most of the pain has shifted to my jaw, which is throbbing. But I'm hungry. Thirsty. I have to venture forth for nourishment and to take a piss.

[...]

I'm back. Someone got danishes from The Bean. The fruit ones were all gone, but there were some cream cheese left. I'll seize any victory, no matter how small, right now. I took the maximum dose of ibuprofen. Hope it goes straight to my jaw.

I found Dave and Miranda asleep on the sofa. Together. Dave playing the gentleman, sleeping on the outside edge, back to the room. Letting Miranda have the safer spot. One of his legs is thrown over hers, and he's curled around her, has a bemused expression on his face. He'd better hope he wakes up first or things could be a bit... ~~hard~~ awkward between them.

They're lovely together. I want to photograph them, but there's only black-and-white film in the camera, and I'd like them in color. All those warm golds and creams, the dustings of rose and peach. I wonder if they would pose nude for me.

I also found Sean asleep in the spare room. I could hear him snoring as I passed the door. Why's he in there? The mattress is too hard, and the pillows are too soft. The bed is too small. Not comfy. Why won't he come into our room? Is it because he hit me?

My head's starting to hurt again. I suspect that the answer to that question is going to turn out to be one of those things that you can only understand if you're British.

Still, I had to look in on him just to be sure.

His face. Mother of god, I look picture perfect compared to him. Harry did that to him. I know it. I hope Harry looks ten times worse.

[...]

Just reread some of Sean's letters. The ones about the poison ivy and missed opportunities. All I know is that after six weeks of sleeping alone, I'm not going to miss the opportunity to sleep next to my lover, even if it means moving to the uncomfortable bed. 


	8. The Insufficiency of Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cate responds to Miranda, Miranda and Dave sleep together (no, not like that -- actual close-your-eyes-and-snore sleep), and Sean goes for a walk. Harry's plot begins to unravel, Sean finds himself on a beach, and Dave shows Viggo a few things.

To: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>  
From: Cate Blanchett <galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz>

Subject: Re: News

Miranda,

> Sean hit Viggo (In his defense, he was  
> swinging for Harry, who, unfortunately,  
> managed to duck.), knocked him out.

Sean? You've got to be kidding. Is he all right? Is Viggo all right? Goodness, are _they_ all right? The things that go on while I'm gone!

Frankly, I'm surprised that he was the one to come to blows with Harry. I always thought it would be you. In fact, I believe I have a ten on you in Dave's betting pool.

> Harry tried to hit Sean,  
> Karl got between them; Harry hit (and  
> broke) Karl's hand.

Oh no. Karl too? That man... No, scratch that -- _those men._ Sheesh. How is he? And I'm sure you don't know, but how is Harry?

> Don't you wish you were here?

I am suddenly happier to be away from all of that posturing and testosterone than I ever thought I could be.

> Hell, it may still be evolving.

Now, see? Wasn't I right?

> I so resent your implication I've been  
> eyeing Dave up. Please. I don't ogle my  
> friends very much. In fact, I'm so far  
> removed from ogling that I have no comments  
> whatsoever about Sean's ass or Viggo's  
> shoulders or Karl's hands. No comments at  
> all.

That's too bad, love, because I was hoping to confer with you about them. But of course you are a more virtuous woman than I, so I am destined to ogle alone.

> Hmm, I could either share space with Viggo,  
> Sean, or Dave. Decisions. Decisions. What's  
> a girl to do?

Poor you. When you do decide, make sure you keep your eyes shut tight, all right? I wouldn't want you to accidentally look at anyone in a predatory or lust-filled manner. Remember, nice girls don't. ;)

And as soon, _as soon_ as you hear anything more, as soon as you have a chance to begin unsnarling this whole tangle, I expect to hear from you. Send Viggo and Sean my love. And Dave too.

Sweet dreams,  
~ Cate

***

_really should start actually using this thing for recording on-set anecdotes rather than off-set soap operas. after all, Peter is depending on me to have some fabulously entertaining stories to regale the public with on the TTT and ROTK DVD commentaries. what can a humble man like me do but acquiesce to his request?_

_woke up on the couch next to Miranda. was very nice. very uncomfortable too. not a lot of space to share, although i think i made good use of what there was. i feel a bit guilty. once Mir agreed that suggesting we sleep together on said couch (while both unconscious AND fully clothed) didn't constitute an inappropriate sexual advance on my part ~~(because, after all, we have behaved this evening as a proper unchaperoned lady and gentleman should)~~ , she dropped right off, and i wasn't too long after. i believe that constitutes a violation of the terms under which i have been appointed Head Nurse Dave, since i didn't bother to check on Viggo after that. but then no one was awake to be able to tell the difference, so perhaps my job is not in jeopardy._

_must suggest to Sean that a wider, longer couch is in order. spent the majority of my time curled up with Mir attempting not to roll onto her. woke up in fits and starts, but am not going to grouch over my loss of sleep, because each time i woke up, Miranda had moved a little bit closer. it's the unconscious mind, you see. clearly her's has fallen for me_ hard. _nothing new, of course. it's difficult, having all sorts of lovely women and men falling at my feet all the time. whatever shall i do? ...seems i'm going to have to start turning them away in droves, if Miranda's body language is any indication. hmm. no great loss._

_i love the shape of her ears. ...just saying._

_managed to disentangle myself from her before she woke up. some parts of me (knees, back, and sides) were happy to get off the couch and away from such close quarters. other parts? not so much._

_first thing i did was attempt to check on Viggo. i say "attempt," because like my car keys, he was not where i left him. tried the door to the spare room on a whim, but it was locked. since Vig was not anywhere else to be found and both their cars were still in the driveway, i used my special detective skills to deduct that Viggo had rung the front desk and requested a change in rooms._

_went into the kitchen to make coffee instead. couldn't find anything but instant, so i gave up and made tea._ that _they have in spades. same with beer, but while it may be the breakfast choice of ~~drunks~~ champions, it's not Dave's first pick. found the mug i recall seeing in that b &w picture of Sean, and brought it and tea out to Mir. heh. she was just sitting up, yawning. pleasantly rumpled._

_her tongue curls in her mouth and brushes her top row of teeth when she yawns._

_handed her the mug. and, of course, that was the signal for all hell to break loose._ *sigh* __

_suddenly Sean was shouting from the spare room: "fuck you, Vig! don't you fucking fuck with me!"_

_very articulate, that man._

_thought Miranda was going to drop her mug, so i took it gently from her fingers and set it down on the side table._

_Vig said something softer, mumbled so i couldn't hear it clearly enough to record for posterity._

_there was a bit more yelling, mostly from Sean, then some rattling as someone fumbled with the lock. Sean threw the door open hard enough to have it bounce back from the wall and vibrate in the frame, and literally stormed out of the house. i think he had a shirt in hand when he left, otherwise things are going to be a bit breezy north of the belt buckle. at least that sight wasn't an unwelcome one, although i did get a glimpse of Harry's handiwork. hmm._

_feel bad for Viggo. he was left standing there, looking totally bewildered. am almost certain any attempts to restrain Mir and allow the guy some space to breathe are going to fail._

_maybe i should offer him some tea._

_~D_

***

_Gardener's Chronicle: A Ten Year Journal of Your Garden's Growth_

** Tool inventory: **

**Item:** Secateurs  
 **Serial no.:** N/A  
 **Quantity:** 1 pair  
 **Price per unit:** $93.95 (NZ Dollars)  
 **Purchased from:** The Wheelbarrow Garden Supplies

 **Notes:**  
Red handled. Purchased for trimming topiaries, as old pruning shears are becoming dull and unusable. Sure, I could have them sharpened, but that would cost almost as much as buying a new pair. I keep forgetting about the conversion rate between pounds and dollars -- nearly had a heart attack when the cashier rung them up, although by the look on her face, I think I may have had a similar effect on her. Perhaps I should have asked Miranda if she had some concealer on her before going out in public looking like this, but I was too busy walking out to let it even cross my mind.

Everything, including my hair and eyelids, feels tender right now. I can't imagine that I walloped Harry nearly as well as he got me. Perhaps I should talk to Dr. Cornwell about the Alprazolam. Now that I've slept it off, I am almost certain I feel more steady on my feet than yesterday. Although that could have everything to do with yesterday and nothing to do with the drug.

Waking up was a bit difficult, though. I'm hoping that's just because I didn't get much sleep. Woke up warm and against ~~something~~ someone solid, which was a welcome feeling. Arms wrapped around me, too.

Still a bit groggy, I rolled towards the warm body, and I guess my movement disturbed him, because I found myself looking at a very awake Viggo. Opened my mouth to say God knows what, and he kissed me. _Hard._ If I didn't know better, I would have felt like I was being claimed. I couldn't help but groan into his mouth, slip my hands around the back of his head and deepen the kiss. It's been entirely too long.

Viggo responded in kind. I could feel his hands roaming down my chest, slipping over tender bruises, making my nerves tingle.

When his fingers found their way to my cock, my eyes flew open. ...I couldn't breathe. I could, however, remember the exact details of each and every picture Harry had sent me. Each. One. Down to the beads of sweat on Viggo's forehead, the way he flared his nostrils, everything.

How could he fucking do this to me?

I pushed him away, of course. Grabbed his roaming hands with my own, shoved them away from me. He looked surprised. I suppose he thought he could snowball me, make me forget about his dalliances with Harry.

That's not going to happen.

I more or less fell out of bed and started grabbing for clothes -- _any_ clothes. I can't be sure, but I think that's when I started to yell at him. Told him to fucking keep his hands off me. He can't damn well have it both ways.

I can't remember everything I said. He did tell me to calm down, over and over again, like I was some fucking barking dog that needed to be soothed. I pulled on my trousers, grabbed a shirt, told him where he and Harry could shove his "concern," and left. I must have grabbed my shoes at some point, because I didn't end up traipsing around Wellington barefoot.

Drove around in the car for a bit until I ran a couple red lights in rapid succession, so I decided to park and just walk until I stopped wanting to hunt down Harry. Eventually found myself at that gardening supply store on Eighth.

Jesus fucking Christ. Does he think I'm a total idiot?

***

Cate and I were at the beach the day she told me Dave fancied me. I told her she was daft. She just smiled that infuriatingly calm and all-knowing "Lady of the Golden Wood" smile and asked me to explain why he flirted with me all the time. Flirted? With me? I gave her the only sensible response ("If I were being flirted with, wouldn't I know?"); she gave me another one of those maddening smiles.

She bet me dinner that something would happen to prove her right. I took the bet. Now, I may be losing. I hate to lose. It makes me all kinds of cranky.

First there was the kiss, then the danishes. Dave and I stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, as we munched on pastry. Light, crisp, bursting with sweet filling. I wasn't trying to be provocative--honestly!--just practical, but I noticed Dave paying way too close attention to me licking the jam from my fingers. He never blinked. Not even sure he breathed (though since his lips didn't start turning blue I assume he did).

He started when I took his hand, brought it to my mouth, drew each finger inside. I locked my eyes with his, and I could see him struggle not to let his close. I could sense the tension humming through him just before I felt something moist and slick against my skin. More raspberry filling. On my collarbone. Dave leaned over, eased my shirt off my shoulder. His mouth closed on my skin. Sucking, licking, nipping. My fingers twined in his hair, exerting just a little pressure, urging him downward.

Sean (who had been sulking in the garden) came inside then. Bugger all! He just walked past us and into the spare room, but the damage was done in terms of shattering the mood.

Well, Dave went to check on Viggo, and I figured I'd use the notebook I saw on the coffee table to get a quick message off to Cate. When I moved the mouse, the screen saver clicked off, and there was a picture of Sean--naked. I checked the folder it was a part of and found lots more naked Seans. And naked Viggos. Some of them...doing things with each other. NAKED!

I guess I was pretty engrossed, because I didn't even sense Dave until he was sitting behind me. His legs to either side of my hips. "Lovely, aren't they?" he whispered, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke.

"Very."

His hand closed over mine over the mouse as we clicked through Viggo's photos together. I was hyper-aware of Dave's body in all the places where it touched mine (and there were a hell of a lot!). He wrapped one arm around my waist, his fingers kneading little circles on my belly. He rested his head on my shoulder, spoke directly into my ear when he talked. Christ!

I missed him when he got up and suggested I get some sleep. He'd take first watch. Now, he's sleeping. There's a lovely smile on his lips. I wonder what he's dreaming about.

[...]

Sean came out just as I wrapped up the last entry. He looked like shit. The bruises looked like they hurt, but the pain in his eyes was worse yet. Sometimes you arrive at a place where there are no words that can serve. I touched his arm, smiled. He managed a weak smile in return. I hugged him, kissed his cheek, and went back to the sofa.

Sean went back to the bloody spare room.

***

Sean.... Fuck, I don't know what just happened. I don't know what his goddamn problem is. Why he's being such a fucking bastard. No, that's not entirely true. I can say it, even if he won't. He thinks I've been fucking around on him. He wouldn't come right out and say it, accuse me directly. No, the prick just falls back on nasty innuendo. Fucking coward!

I guess he conveniently forgot all the times I'd come home early and wait for him to call, to tell me what he'd like to be doing with me, while we brought each other off. All those nights we fucked each other with words alone, because they could reach farther than lips and fingers, tongues and cock. God damn him!

OK, after I was lying next to Sean in the spare room, I may have overestimated my ability to actually sleep next to him, but watching him sleep was a fine substitute. Sean was restless--tossing, muttering words that weren't quite words. That's not like him. He usually sleeps like a stone.

He turned toward me, his arm went around me, and it felt so fucking right. His eyes opened, and before he could say anything, I kissed him. It made my jaw ache, and I could taste blood from his lip, but before I could pull back, his fingers threaded through my hair to hold me in place. So long. Too long.

Then his hand trailed down my spine, fingers tracing lazy circles on the small of my back. My hand wandered down his chest, fingers curling around his half-hard cock.

That's when he tensed and shoved me away.

He... He asked me what the fuck I thought I was doing. Told me to keep my fucking hands off him. He wouldn't let me calm him as he grabbed his clothes and pulled them on hard enough I was surprised he didn't rip something. I asked him not to go, and he turned, said not to worry, that I wouldn't be alone for long.

That's when I started getting angry. I asked him what he meant, suggested that he might be having a reaction to whatever meds he took for the flight, since he was clearly irrational.

"So you've been playing Penelope to my Odysseus all these weeks? Is that what you're saying?" I nodded, but that was a mistake. I could see it in his eyes.

He said, "I cry you mercy then. I took you for that cunning whore that made me think we were involved in more than just some casual fucking. My mistake."

Them he walked out. Motherfucking bastard walked out!

He called me a whore. I wish he'd hit me again. It would have hurt less.

***

It was half past dawn when Dave opened one eye and told me there was enough room on the sofa for two. I'd like to know his definition of "enough room." Enough for us to lie next to each other only with our arms around each other. Perhaps that was all part of his evil plan, although if it involved more than sleep, I thwarted it by dropping off straightaway.

He had tea made when I woke up (damned useful, he is), but before I could do more than breathe in the steam, there was shouting. From the spare room.

Sean was yelling at Viggo. Viggo occasionally yelled back. Most of it wasn't clear. I was considering moving closer to the room when Sean flung the door open, half-dressed, and stormed out the apartment.

Viggo just stood in the hall looking defeated. When I started to go to him, he shook his head and retreated into the master bedroom. He slammed the door hard enough to knock one of his framed photos off the wall. Glass shattered as it hit the floor. It was a picture of the two of them in the yard laughing. Fuck.

So Dave stayed at the house, and I'm sitting in the car in front of Karl's right now. The bastard didn't call me back last night. Hope he didn't think that would put me off the trail.

Hope he's OK.

***

To: David Wenham <secondson@gondor.co.nz>  
From: Karl Urban <rohanwon@meduseld.co.nz>

Dave,

It's Miranda. I'm at Karl's (didn't want to take the time to switch over to my Webmail), and you obviously don't have your cell phone with you. Hope you still have the PC on, since the phone line is busy. Am I the only person in the entire cast who carries theirs with them? Is that why no one ever bothers calling me on mine?

Oh, Dave. Harry's a bastard. A total bastard. A bigger bastard that even I'd given him credit for, and that's saying something. I know what Sean was yelling about this morning, and we need to find Sean. Now. I'm going to drive by some of his haunts and see if I can spot him or his car. Let me know (ON MY CELL PHONE!!!) if he comes back to the house.

I'll be here for a bit longer. I'm making Karl some lunch and cutting his pain pills in half so that he isn't totally looped out when he takes them.

Miranda

PS You might want to check the phone in the spare room to see if one of them knocked it off the cradle.

***

_Gardener's Chronicle: A Ten Year Journal of Your Garden's Growth_

**~~ Plant inventory: ~~ **

**~~Botanical name:~~   
~~Common name:~~ **

**~~Features:~~   
~~Average height:~~   
~~Exposure:~~ **

**~~Quantity:~~   
~~Price per unit:~~   
~~Supplier:~~   
~~Location:~~ **

**Notes:**  
The anger is starting to settle in my stomach. I can feel it curling up there, cold and hard. I thought about stopping to pick up a sandwich or something, because I don't think I've eaten since that pasty, chicken-like substitute on the plane, but the thought of food makes me feel slightly nauseous.

The thought of Viggo, crying out as Harry pounds into him, as he bites down on Viggo's shoulder over and over again, makes me nauseous.

I wonder if Viggo thought of me instead of Harry. Or if Harry can bring him off with just the right look. I wonder if Viggo's been letting Harry listen in on our conversations all the while, sucking him off while I ramble on half a world away. I bet Viggo takes him as easily and willingly as he ever took me. Bastards. The both of them.

I have such good taste.

Why wouldn't Viggo just damn well tell me he was fucking Harry? Christ, I would have backed off right away, moved my stuff out, ~~wished them well~~. Is he's getting some perverse joy out of putting me through the wringer? Or is he trying to guess how long I'll hold out before I confront him? That'd be great. I could show him the strawberry handkerchief, wave the proof in his face, and he'd deny everything, laugh about it later. About what a great big git I was to believe him. To love him.

 _Whore._ Of the worst kind.

I'm having fantasies about jamming my new gardening shears handle-first into Harry's eye, and trying out the blades on his balls. It's all I can do not to walk over to Harry's place and make that fantasy a reality.

Instead, I'm sitting here on my arse, breathing in salted air and the stench of seaweed, and hoping I'll be swallowed up by the tide. Christ. Big fucking coward. I should bloody well do it.

***

_*click*_

[Miranda] Hello?

[David] Mir! Hi! It's Dave.

[Miranda] Good. Dave. Listen, I--

[David] Yeah. I went into the--

[Miranda] --talked to Karl--

[David] --spare bedroom--

[Miranda] --and he was still a bit loopy, but he said Harry--

[David] --and I found some letters Sean had written to Vig--

[Miranda] Hold on. What did you say?

[David] What?

[Miranda] You said something about letters.

[David] Yeah. But didn't you just say--

[Miranda] We'll get to that. _What_ letters? To who?

[David] To nobody. Ok, well, that's not true. They were to Viggo. Except they weren't. Weren't going to be given to him, that is. They were in the trash.

[Miranda] You were going through the trash? What for? _*amused*_ Looking for more nudes?

[David] _*interested and amused*_ Hmm. Not this time, but maybe later. ...No, I went in there, and it looked like a cyclone had hit the place. At least in terms of clothes. I think Sean and Viggo may have forgotten some more important items in their rush to vacate the premises.

You were right, though. Someone had knocked the phone right off the night table, and it had been off the hook long enough to have stopped making that really annoying beeping noise. Picked it up, put it back in its place, and decided to be incredibly kind and pick up after Hurricane Sean. The bag he brought back with him was open and upended on the floor. It must have been sitting on the chair by the desk, which was also on the floor on its back.

[Miranda] Dave--

[David] Shirts, trousers, socks, toothpaste, shaving kit... Everything everywhere. And get this, he had some of that--

[Miranda] _Dave--_

[David] --flavoured, hot and cold lube packed in there. You know, the kind you get for bachelor party gag gifts? Ok, you probably don't actually know that, but--

[Miranda] **Dave!**

[David] Yes?

[Miranda] The point. Get to the point.

[David] Right. Anyway, I'm picking all this stuff up off the floor, and I'm under the desk, retrieving the lube, when I glance at the wastepaper basket. There's a journal in there. Nice looking, too. Handmade or something. Hand-bound, for sure. And I wonder who would throw away such a nice piece of work. It's got to be a mistake, right? So I fish it out.

And there's this damn crumpled piece of paper stuck to the back cover, just hanging on there, one corner caught between the pages of the journal. So I pick it off, fully intending to toss it. Until I look at it, that is. And then I open up the journal. Fucking hell, Mir. They're both Sean's. And they're both confusing as hell. Personal, too. But I guess they would be, wouldn't they?

So I figure Viggo should see them. Because maybe he'll know what the hell Sean is going on about, and frankly, they don't sound anything like the shouting Sean that left here this morning. Maybe they'll do some good. At the very least, they'll do no harm.

I bring them out of the spare room with me, and lucky for me, Viggo's in the kitchen. Nursing a beer, no less, but who can blame him? I'd be knocking them back like they were going out of style if I'd gone through half of what he has.

As much as I'd like to sit around and chat with him--

[Miranda] _*under breath*_ I bet you would.

[David] --I figure I should just cut to the chase. So I tell him that I found some stuff in the spare room, and of course I wasn't snooping, it was an accidental find, and I think he should take a look at them, and here they are.

Flipped open the journal, smoothed the crumpled page and placed it on top, and decided I should give the man some space, so I left to call you.

[Miranda] Has he read them?

[David] That's what he's doing now, I'm assuming.

[Miranda] Dave?

[David] Mmm?

[Miranda] What did the letters _say,_ Dave. You didn't say.

[David] Oh! Sorry. Sean was going on about hitting Viggo, and something about some pictures or something--

[Miranda] _Pictures?_ Like photos?

[David] I don't know. Maybe. He was--

_*There is a muffled crash in the background.*_

[David] Oh, Jesus. Miranda?

[Miranda] Yes?

[David] I have to go.

[Miranda] Dave, what's--

_*click*_

[Miranda] --going on? _...Fuck!_


	9. What is Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda searches for Sean and clarifies a sticking point for Viggo, Viggo goes for a chat with Karl, Sean is spotted (but by the wrong people), and Karl phones Bernard. Word spreads and the Sean sighting is twisted. Sean tries to see Harry, and Dave spends some quality time with Miranda. Harry makes a few things clear to Karl, Miranda gives in to exhaustion, and Viggo writes lists.

_*click*_

_[Automated voice]: You have reached the voicemail of..._

_[Sean's voice]: Sean Bean._

_[Automated voice]: Please leave a message after the beep._

_*beep*_

*sigh* Sean, it's Miranda. I figured that the combination of you having your cell phone with you and having it turned on was a long shot, but I had to try. Listen. If you get this message, call me on my cell. If you don't get me, try Karl. Sean, there's something you need to know. It's important. Very important. Please call one of us soon.

_*click*_

***

_*click*_

[Dave]: Hello?

[Miranda]: Dave. What the hell's going on there?

[Dave]: Um, just, well...

[Miranda]: DAVE!?!?

[Dave]: Right. It seems that big wooden bowl of potpourri hurled itself across the kitchen. I'm crunching around on all kinds of dried up stuff-leaves, twigs, petals--

[Miranda]: *weakly* Please stop.

[Dave]: Smells like tangerines.

[Miranda]: Where's Viggo?

[Dave]: He's here.

[Miranda]: Put him on the phone.

[Dave]: She wants to talk to you.

[Viggo]: *muffled* No.

[Miranda]: It's important.

[Dave]: She says it's important.

[Viggo]: *louder this time* What is it that you don't understand about NO?

[Dave]: Mir, I don't think--

[Miranda]: Tell him it's about the pictures.

[Dave]: About what--

[Miranda]: Just tell him.

[Dave]: She says it's about the pictures.

[Viggo]: Miranda.

[Miranda]: Viggo, listen. This is important.

[Viggo]: So you said.

[Miranda]: Sean's note mentioned pictures. What did he say?

[Viggo]: I thought you were supposed to be telling me. *sigh* Fine. Something about not being able to ignore what was right in front of his eyes and not being able to get them out of his head.

[Miranda]: Fuck.

[Viggo]: You do know what it means. What's he talking about, Miranda?

[Miranda]: Oh, Viggo. It's Harry.

[Viggo]: Harry?

[Miranda]: I just left Karl's. He got hurt in the scuffle after you got knocked out. Broke his hand.

[Viggo]: Christ. Sean didn't...

[Miranda]: No. It was Harry. Dave had a hold of Sean, and Harry was going to take the chance to let loose on him. Karl stopped the blow.

[Viggo]: Shit. Go on.

[Miranda]: Before Sean arrived, Karl and Harry went off to talk, and Harry showed him a picture...

[Viggo]: A picture of what?

[Miranda]: Of you.

[Viggo]: A photo of me. So what's the problem?

[Miranda]: It wasn't just of you, Viggo. It was you and Harry, and you--

[Viggo]: *mumbling* Me and Harry?

[Miranda]: Viggo, you were tied up, and Harry was nailing you pretty good, from Karl's account.

[Viggo]: What?

[Miranda]: And Harry's been sending them to Sean. He's been sending his fucking pictures to Sean. And...

_*crash*_

[Miranda]: Viggo? Viggo...? Vig, please....

[Dave]: Mir?

[Miranda]: Where's Viggo?

[Dave]: Just dropped the phone. Left the room. Jesus, Mir, what did you say to him?

[Miranda]: Remember those photos on Viggo's computer?

[Dave]: Who could forget?

[Miranda]: Harry's made himself up some of him and Viggo.

[Dave]: You mean pictures of them...?

[Miranda]: Yeah. And he's been sending them to Sean.

[Dave]: Oh, no.

[Miranda]: Oh, yes.

[Dave]: Shit!

[Miranda]: I know. Harry's such a bastard--

[Dave]: I don't mean the pictures, Mir. Viggo just took off.

[Miranda]: What?

[Dave]: He just pulled out of here like the devil himself was chasing him.

[Miranda]: No. Nonononono. You have to go after him, Dave.

[Dave]: I don't have a car!

[Miranda]: You...? Fuck!

[Dave]: Indeed.

[Miranda]: My fucking head hurts.

[Dave]: I could...uh...help with that.

[Miranda]: You could?

[Dave]: *very serious* I would prescribe a few aspirin, a long soak in the tub, and a relaxing full-body massage.

[Miranda]: *laughs weakly* You would?

[Dave]: Definitely.

[Miranda]: And you think you can hook me up with those things, eh?

[Dave]: Please. Remember who you're talking to, love.

[Miranda]: I'm going to swing by Harry's and see if anyone is there. Then I'm driving back to the house. I know I don't have the kind of luck necessary to just stumble across Sean or Viggo, but they have to come home eventually.

[Dave]: Guess so. I'm going to attack Viggo's mess. That's so wrong. I don't even like cleaning my own house.

[Miranda]: Consider it a sacrifice for a good cause.

[Dave]: Would this be one of those sacrifices that have rewards attached to them?

[Miranda]: You know what they say about no good deed going unrewarded.

[Dave]: Mmm...

[Miranda]: I should be back in about twenty minutes.

[Dave]: Better hurry then. I've got you on the clock.

[Miranda]: *affectionately* Asshole. See ya soon.

[Dave]: Bye.

_*click*_

***

Evenstarry: orli?  
KissMyBow: livvie!  
Evenstarry: i saw sean today.  
KissMyBow: picking up one of elijah's messes no doubt.  
Evenstarry: no.  
Evenstarry: not that sean. the other one.  
KissMyBow: bean? he's still in england, love.  
Evenstarry: is not. he's back.  
KissMyBow: back. but that nearly two weeks early. why'd he come back?  
Evenstarry: dunno. didn't get a chance to ask him.  
Evenstarry: he didn't even turn when i was calling him.  
KissMyBow: maybe he didn't hear you.  
Evenstarry: all the people standing around him heard me.  
KissMyBow: ah.  
Evenstarry: but orli, you should have SEEN him.  
KissMyBow: i have, love. still not 100% sure what about him drives birds mad.  
Evenstarry: you're joking?  
Evenstarry: right?  
Evenstarry: orli?  
KissMyBow: heh. yeah, i'm joking.  
Evenstarry: good.  
KissMyBow: just a little.  
Evenstarrry: !!!  
KissMyBow: but you were saying???  
Evenstarry: oh, sean was all beat up.  
KissMyBow: maybe he was up late the night before. he's been gone for awhile. viggo might not have let him get much sleep.  
Evenstarry: i didn't say TIRED. i said BEAT UP. as in bloody and bruised from being smashed in the face. a number of times.  
KissMyBow: bean? you sure it was bloody bean, livvie?  
Evenstarry: sure.  
KissMyBow: can't help you much with your gossip mongering, love. don't know a thing about bean.  
Evenstarry: gossip mongering? GOSSIP MONGERING???  
KissMyBow: yeah, goss--  
 **Evenstarry signed off at 10:57 AM.**  
KissMyBow: livvie???  
KissMyBow: livvie???

_[Thirty-seven seconds later]_

KissMyBow: hey there.  
DeadWetElf: What's up, Orli?  
KissMyBow: livvie just messaged me about sean. bean not astin.  
DeadWetElf: What about him?  
KissMyBow: you hear anything about him coming back from break early, craig?  
DeadWetElf: Me? No. He's back???  
KissMyBow: yeah. well, according to livvie....

***

[Bernard]: H'llo?

[Karl]: It's Karl. Did I wake you?

[Bernard]: If you have to ask that question, you sort of already know the answer, don't you?

[Karl]: Guess so. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.... I'll call back later.

[Bernard]: Karl. I'm awake now. And I assume you wouldn't be calling me if it wasn't urgent.

[Karl]: *brittle laugh* Urgent...

[Bernard]: Karl, what happened?

[Karl]: Miranda came over this morning to check in on me. She confronted me. Accused me of conspiring with Harry. She's been talking to Sean, you see. They've been e-mailing since Viggo... Well, that's not important right now.

[Bernard]: Breathe, Karl. Just relax.

[Karl]: *takes several deep breaths* So she tells me that Harry's been winding Sean up, and she wants to know what he's been up to.

[Bernard]: Did you tell her?

[Karl]: I had to. She was standing right there, looking like she wanted any excuse to take me apart with her bare hands.

[Bernard]: Did you tell her the truth? All of it? About the photos?

[Karl]: *voice barely above a whisper* Yes.

[Bernard]: *sighs* What did she do?

[Karl]: Helped me wash up and get dressed. Made me sandwiches. Cut up my pills for me so I could take them by halves.

[Bernard]: *mumbling* That's my girl.

[Karl]: What?

[Bernard]: What else happened, Karl? I'm sure that this is not about confessing to Miranda.

[Karl]: About forty-five minutes after she left, Viggo arrived.

[Bernard]: Viggo?

[Karl]: He wanted to hear what I knew for himself, I guess. Bad news travels pretty fucking fast.

[Bernard]: How was he?

[Karl]: He looked like shit. All bruised. But his eyes.... Shit, Bernard, I've never really seen Viggo angry. He's not all wild like Sean. No, he's quieter. Scarier. You can see it all in his eyes.

[Bernard]: Can't say I'm surprised.

[Karl]: He looks kind of pale, though. Tells me he hasn't eaten in...well, he doesn't know how long. I offer him one of Mir's sandwiches. She made plenty. So Viggo is in the kitchen, and I'm on the sofa; and I look up, and Harry's there.

[Bernard]: Harry?

[Karl]: Yeah. He starts to say something about getting tired of having to always lock my door, and then he just stops. Viggo's come back.

[Bernard]: Oh, no. Please tell me this doesn't involve another trip to the hospital.

[Karl]: Not this time. No.

Viggo stops dead, drops the glass he's holding. It shatters. Apple juice everywhere. And before I know it, he's all over Harry. Viggo grabs him by the throat and slams him up against the wall.

I start to get up, and Viggo tells me to stay where I am. He leans in close to Harry, has his mouth right against Harry's ear while he talks. I couldn't tell what was being said. But Viggo's knuckles were white from gripping Harry's throat and Harry's was trying to pry his fingers loose.

Then--oh, fuck!--Harry's hands just fell away, and his eyes started rolling back in the sockets--

[Bernard]: Good Lord, Karl, did you have to call the police?

[Karl]: No. Viggo let him go. Shoved him across the room and told him to help me clean up the mess. Then he left.

[Bernard]: And Harry?

[Karl]: He's locked in my bathroom, Bernard. Won't talk to me, won't come out. I... I don't know what to do....

[Bernard]: I don't think I can help you there. I wager that you know best why he's in there.

[Karl]: Me? What makes you think--?

[Bernard]: *with a bit of an edge to his voice* Karl.

[Karl]: We've some...unresolved issues.

[Bernard]: So I gathered. You need to resolve them.

[Karl]: I... I don't know if I can.

[Bernard]: But you need to try, Karl. You need to try.

[Karl]: *wearily* Guess I should be on my way then.

[Bernard]: Yes, you should. But, Karl, if you need anything....

[Karl]: I'll call.

[Bernard]: Right.

_*click*_

***

DeadWetElf: Dom!  
ShireSlut: Hey Craigg. Howgoes?  
DeadWetElf: I'm good. You?  
ShireSlut: notbad. Sup??.?  
DeadWetElf: I was wondering if you guys had seen Bean around set today.  
DeadWetElf: Apparently he's back early.  
ShireSlut: Seriousssly?? Cool. Wecan fgrab himn go out for drinks then .He'll pay.  
DeadWetElf: No, no, no, Dom. He's back early, but not for kicks.  
DeadWetElf: Liv told Orli she saw him.  
DeadWetElf: This morning.  
ShireSlut: so??? That happens ni the mornings.  
ShireSlut: You see people  
DeadWetElf: Just wait.  
ShireSlut: heh. patiesnce young KJedi.  
DeadWetElf: Liv saw Bean this morning. He didn't see her.  
DeadWetElf: He was all bashed up, like he'd been in a car accident or something.  
DeadWetElf: Smashed lip. TWO black eyes. All swollen.  
ShireSlut: Eseriouisly???  
DeadWetElf: Maybe broken bones...  
DeadWetElf: Maybe disoriented, I don't know, but he didn't answer her when she called.  
DeadWetElf: So, if you could keep an eye out for him. Just in case.  
ShireSlut: !!!1!!11  
ShireSlut: I gotta tell Bills!!!!  
DeadWetElf: Yeah, that would be good. Find out if your bunch have seen him. But try not to panic anyone, ok?  
DeadWetElf: Keep it low profile?? Until we know more?  
ShireSlut: no WorrieS.  
DeadWetElf: I've got to be on set in a couple minutes. So keep this on the Q-T, ok?  
ShireSlut: YOu gotit.!  
DeadWetElf: Ok. Bye, then!  
 **DeadWetElf signed off at 11:23 AM.**

[...]

ShireSlut: hey Bills!!!  
FoolOfATook: Sblomie!  
ShireSlut: youstil in your trailer??  
FoolOfATook: Yep. Coming over?  
ShireSlut: Ina minute. Get thise  
ShireSlut: I wasjust talking to Craig.  
ShireSlut: you'll neveR beliefe what he told me.  
ShireSlut: seems he haerd from orli whoi heardfrom Liv...

***

_*click*_

_Peter here. Leave me a message if the sets are on fire. If the cameras aren't working. If the entire crew has come down with food poisoning. Do not leave me a message if you can't find your Hobbit feet. Or if the lunch special has run out. Or if--_

_*beep*_

Peter? It's me. The Hobbits are all up in arms over something, love. I need to talk to you, see if you've heard anything. Call me.

_*click*_

***

_*click*_

[Philippa] Hello?

[Fran] Hi, it's Fran. Have you seen Peter?

[Philippa] Hmm. Not recently. I think he's in transit.

[Fran] Ah. Ok. If you catch him, would you get him to call me? He's not answering his cell.

[Philippa] _*amused*_ That'd be because he left it here, Fran. I'm looking at it right now.

[Fran] Hmm. Great. The moment I actually need to talk to him, and he forgets his damn phone.

[Philippa] Is everything all right?

[Fran] ...Uh, yeah. Just-- just doing some damage control on a small situation. Don't worry about it.

[Philippa] You're sure?

[Fran] Yes. _...Yes._ I'm sure it'll all be fine. But when you see him, tell him to call me right away, all right?

[Philippa] Will do.

[Fran] Thank you. Ta!

_*click*_

***

_Gardener's Chronicle: A Ten Year Journal of Your Garden's Growth_

**~~ Plant inventory: ~~ **   
**~~Botanical name:~~   
~~Common name:~~ **

**~~Features:~~   
~~Average height:~~   
~~Exposure:~~ **

**~~Quantity:~~   
~~Price per unit:~~   
~~Supplier:~~   
~~Location:~~ **

**Notes:**  
I did it. I went to Harry's, for all the good it did me. Walked all the way from the damn beach to his place. _Fuck._ Why did I leave the car behind? For that matter, _where_ did I leave the car?

Goddammit, I think I'm losing it.

No. I'm sure I am.

Banged on Harry's front door for a full 5 minutes. Maybe more. Skinned my knuckles on the wood. I had no idea what I was going to do once he answered, but reasons and intent don't seem to matter right now.

Nobody answered. I peered in a couple of the windows, but I couldn't see much. He could be in there. I wouldn't know. Bloody reflective glass.

Eventually the neighbours came over to see what the fuss was, so I had to duck out. Found myself wandering back down to this same goddamn beach -- no fucking idea why. Maybe it's the smell of rotting seaweed. Reminds me of my relationships. Maybe it's the constant roar of the waves. Keeps me from screaming bloody murder. Doesn't really matter, because it's quiet and secluded, so I can lick my wounds in relative private.

I wonder how long it took Viggo to hook up with Harry after I left. Did he call him? Laugh and tell him how well it had gone off? Did he drive over there, get a front seat while I pounded on the door and yelled my throat hoarse?

Were they fucking on the floor, slick with sweat, Viggo moaning Harry's name as he sank down onto him? Were they like that, Viggo rising, falling, groaning, while I tried to find just _one_ window that didn't simply show me the look on my face? Did Harry hold Viggo's wrists tight and pull him down over him where he would have better access to the hollow of his throat?

Or did Viggo crawl willingly across the floor to Harry, to sit between his legs and lap at his cock? Unzip the lazy bugger's zipper for him, push aside the layers of cloth, stroke him until he was hard? Was he sitting there, mouth full of cock, humming tunelessly while I shouted outside?

I... Fuck, I need to take a walk.

[...]

I should get a hotel room or something. Find somewhere to sleep before it gets dark. I can't stay here all night, now can I?

_I wish I'd brought my damn jacket._

***

_Mir didn't take too long to get here after we hung up. guess she can't be parted from my charms for very long. could tell her head hurt from the moment she walked in, though. kept wincing. no luck finding Sean, and Viggo was missing in action as well after flying out of here like he'd been shot out of one of those circus canons. need to get the two of them radio collars or something. send the Department of Conservation after them, track their movements, migration patterns. wouldn't want to be Harry right now, that's for sure, but then i don't usually want to be Harry. involves too much bravado and not enough Miranda._

_took her keys from her, made her sit down on that little bench by the door, slipped off her shoes and ran my thumbs along the arches of her feet. seemed to like that._

_got her aspirin, as promised, made her take it while she perched on Viggo and Sean's bed so that she could be comfortable while i ran the bathwater. am i good or what? don't forget a thing. mind like a steel trap._

_why is it Viggo and Sean can't keep their home medical kit up to date, but they have all sorts of crap for the bath? picked out the least masculine scent i could find (something spicy, although the label had peeled off, so i'm still not sure exactly what it was), and poured it into the water. was foamy. heh._

_let Mir get undressed in private, much to her dismay, i'm sure. i know she's cracking. know it._

_heard her sigh when she sank into the water all the way in the bedroom. talked to her through the open door for a bit, then ventured in._

_lovely, lovely Miranda. hair piled on head, wisps of it floating near her cheeks, her neck. eyes closed, small smile on her face._

_sat on the side of the tub, thought about offering to scrub her back. or front. whatever. dangled hands in water instead. drizzled water down the side of her neck with my fingers. watched her._

_held out a nice fluffy pinstriped towel when she was ready to get out. even averted my eyes. a bit. ...ok, not at all. not the point. offered up the full-body massage. figured she'd take me up on the offer._

_she didn't._

_instead, she grinned at me as she pulled the bobby pins out of her hair, then grabbed my hand and drew me out into the living room. made me sit down on the couch. fully clothed. told her she had an advantage over me, since she got the stylish towel. she just laughed. pushed me back into the cushions, told me to shut up. was her turn to talk. don't know what she was implying._

_shut up anyway, once she started undoing the buttons on my shirt. have i mentioned how nicely shaped her fingers are? long, delicate, and with calluses in all the right places. love shieldmaidens._

_and her voice. her voice! dropped it low, so i had to strain to hear her, told me to close my eyes, and listen for once. trailed her fingers lightly across my lips as she said that. opened my mouth, and she pulled them away. dammit._

_told me to be quiet. again._

_felt her fingers on my forehead next, across my eyelids while she repeated that i was to keep them closed. grinned, fought back the urge to say "yes'm." she leaned in, brushed her lips against mine. no kiss. could feel her breath, though. made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle._

_fuck._

_felt her move onto the couch beside me, then swing one leg over mine, slip across until she was sitting on my lap. felt the towel press against my chest, and then it was sliding down and off. you have any idea how damn hard it is to keep your eyes closed with a naked woman across your lap? yeah. impossible. so i didn't._

_christ, i had no idea her skin would be so pale._

_that was when she started to talk. and i mean really talk. not sure those sort of words should be coming out of such a soft mouth. all hard consonants, short, guttural vowels. lots of descriptors, descriptions. good fucking christ._

_couldn't stop my hips from bucking upward, jostling her just a little bit as my cock twitched. thought she was going to bring me off with words alone. the faint pressure of her hands stroking through the denim didn't hurt either. had to grab her hips at that point, as much to ground myself as to keep her balanced._

_ducked her head almost exactly like that first time we kissed. made her hair spill across my neck and shoulders. and that's all it took._

_she looked up at about that point, and the expression on her face that said all sorts of non-PG-rated things changed a bit. thought it was me, at first, that had erased that wicked, wicked look._

_is it just me, or do all the males in this household have the worst timing_ ever? _granted, this time it wasn't the most completely worst moment possible, since that would have been about 30 seconds previous. but how hard is it to find a little privacy on the couch in the front room of your friends' house while they're out for a little jaunt and expected back at any moment? sheesh. no tact at all, these homeowners._

_so there's Viggo, leaning against the doorframe in the hall, watching us. who the fuck knows how much he's seen or when he came in, because he's sure not telling. no smile, no frown, no get-the-fuck-off-my-couch, nothing. out of the corner of my eye, i can see Mir's neck reddening. i wink at Viggo, then grab the towel and wrap it back around her. she slips off my lap, so i stand up, shirt hanging open, feeling rumpled, stained and exhilarated, and say the only thing one can say in a situation like that:_

_"right. so, anyone want a drink?"_

_~D_

***

_[Letter--addressed, stamped and sealed, lying on the floor under the coffee table at Harry's.]_

Karl,

You were careless, mate. Instead of getting on the phone, instead of retreating to the kitchen where I couldn't hear, you should have stayed where you could see the bathroom door. Walking out was almost too easy, but then I've had some practice since we were together.

I left the bathroom door shut. Wonder how long it will take you to realize I'm not there.

When Viggo had me up against the wall, he told me that the makeup crew warned him about me. They told him how pretty Stuart always came to the set bruised. They told him I would do the same to him given the chance. And I wanted to. Oh, I wanted to.

He told me I was trying to find someone I could fuck hard enough to make you feel it. To make you feel something.

Why did you listen to him, Karl? Why did you just sit there while he was choking me and saying things like that to me? Why did you fuck around on me, you bastard? Why didn't what we had mean a goddamn thing to you?

You fucked him in our bed, Karl. In our goddamn bed! You two were too involved to notice when I came home. I watched you. Watched him suck you off, watched him turn you over on you belly and fuck you. Hard. You were practically sobbing, pleading for more. I'd never seen you come undone that way, not at my hand. I wanted to fucking kill you both.

You never knew I was there. I just went away and broke it off with you a few days later. Do you even remember his name, Karl? Do you?

Viggo told me he'd kill me if I cost him Sean. I think he meant it. He's too much of a fucking romantic to know that there are plenty of things worse than dying.

Harry

***

To: Cate Blanchett <galadriel@goldenwood.co.nz>  
From: Miranda Otto <shieldmaiden@rohan.co.nz>

Cate,

Things just keep getting more and more buggered up. Too tired to go into full details about anything. Desperately need to take a nap before I fall over. I'll e-mail you later. Promise.

Love,  
Miranda

PS I...yield. I believe I've well and truly lost the wager.

***

** What I Know: **  
I'm so very tired.  
Sean is missing. His car is abandoned in town.  
He went to his gardening supply shop this morning. Bought new shears.  
Harry has been mindfucking ~~him~~ both of us for days and days.  
Harry raped me. Doesn't much matter that he did it in an unconventional way.  
Miranda and Dave are beautiful together.  
I'm angry at Sean for not trusting me, for not talking to me, for running off the way he did, for making me sick with worry because he's not coming home.  
I'm angry at myself for not seeing what he needed, for not being able to give it to him.  
I love Sean (despite the anger and hurt).

 **What I Don't Know:**  
Where Sean is.  
If Sean will come back.  
If Sean still wants there to be an "us."  
How Harry got those pictures made.  
How we deserved to have such good friends, who are willing to stick around when we are at our worst.  
What Peter and Fran are likely to do once they find out what's happening.  
How Karl ever loved Harry. If Karl ever loved Harry.  
If Sean and I can forgive each other.  
If Sean still loves me.


End file.
